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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required PORCELAIN AND TILE TO DEFILE FOUR JUNKIES You cannot imagine what I see Unless you are exactly like me Friends like yours die and that’s the rub But many of mine have died in my bathtub Just two junkies sitting together on porcelain and tile There to defile the temple of my body I read about in some Biblical babble or other The needle our father, the dope our mother And every step is belabored but for the ones that lead to the man The man who’s always there but only if you have what he needs so you can purchase that which you need Given flight on occasion but your soul is never really freed A soul in search of serenity on some ivory colored beach But that’s a place Broadway and a hundred and eleventh Street won’t allow you to reach No beach of gold beneath your feet midst bodies tanned and trim We just pay for what we require from Fred, Greg, Tommy or Jim Those four names Four friends who were too busy feeling their own pain to worry about the others Although as emotionally connected as any inseparable brothers But alas, a mother also sometimes smothers When their child meddles in the middle of death’s betrayal and disguise And that’s when they discover that even the most meticulously careful junkie dies Yet in the center of the circle of my life these people were the hub And each of them sacred in their indignity died in the very same bathtub Your friends exit calmly or with a final fight Or better yet in bed when death beckons them softly one night My friends and I were just searching for virgin peace And still today my tepid tears they simply will not cease © 2012 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~
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