[cocaine-victim]

I Think Of You

I think of you lying there, naked and dead,
with porn on the TV and drugs on the bed.
I think of her finding you, screaming with shock,
the young hotel maid from the far Eastern Block,
who’ll remember forever, at her mind it will gnaw,
the image of the dead, nameless junkie she saw.

I wonder if you suffered much pain as you went,
if your mind into turmoil and madness was sent?
I think of the moment you went from this world,
and if a picture of me in your mind was unfurled?
Or if you’d already gone then and didn’t really care,
your eyes fixed and empty in a mindless blank stare.

I think of your funeral and who will attend,
the friends far away and the apologies they’ll send.
The looks on their faces, the gasps and the shocks,
when they find out what put you in that big wooden box.
Your refusal to get help, the cause of your death,
the addiction that consumed you taking every last breath.

I think of the lie that I can tell to your Dad,
The unexpected death of the son that he had.
Of the good that you did with your life to all ends,
not the stealing and lying and cheating of friends.
I’ll tell of the fun and the laughter and hugs,
not the manipulation, the debts and the drugs.

But your Mother, your brothers, close friends, they would know,
of the inevitable death that cocaine would bestow.
They’d comfort me, say I’d done all that I could,
that I’d given much more than anyone really should.
That you were beyond all help, that we’d all really tried,
and it was purely your fault that you’d overdosed and died.

But I’d question it all, it would play on my mind,
was there really no help that for you I could find?
Could I have taken a loan, gone even more into debt?
Was there a treatment available that you didn’t get?
Could I do any more? Was there something I could have said,
that would have kept you by my side, happy, safe and not dead?

Such horrors will plague me, like demons in my mind,
It’ll be hellish for me and no peace will I find,
so I’ll probably join you, down there in your grave,
with the knowledge your life was not possible to save.
For the dealers would always be there, with the will,
to feed you the poison, that would eventually kill.

******
I wish you could see that I can’t really cope,
that the only thing keeping me here is the hope,
that you’ll wake up one day and hate what that drug does,
that what you have lost is just not worth the buzz,
the cruelty and heartbreak, the monster you’ve been,
the financial ruin of every girlfriend you’ve seen.

If only you’d get help, if only you‘d see,
the light in the tunnel, the man you could be.
That those blood sucking dealers are happy to take,
every part of your life, every penny you make.
That your family, friends and especially me,
still know you’re in there behind the addict we see.

That we’ll all stay with you, right to the bitter end,
never giving up hope that one day you will mend.
That you’ll realise in time that your life could be bettered,
if the hold on your mind from this drug was unfettered.
If you’d just love us all, and yourself, so you’d try,
to rescue yourself and stop trying to die!

[4everhoping]

I have just found and joined this site and this poem was the first thing I read. It moved me to tears and seemed to say everything I have thought or felt about my son. I write poetry too sometimes and have written about my son and his problems and the effect it has on myself and family but your poem says far more to me.

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