His glassy eyes stare up at God,
Broken bottle at his feet.
Limp fingers rest
Inches from orange plastic,
Smoke trails from a white roll.
Litter the floor.
Numbers, symbols, prices, prescriptions,
Near an empty wallet.
We Love You.
His angel mourns from above,
The Grim Reaper steps through the door,
The devil laughs in the shadows.
© December 2015 | Placer County, California
#TooManyMonthsTooLate I’m sorry! This is more obscure than the others, but probably fitting in this day and age…