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Trisha My Rose

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Trisha My Rose

Trisha my dead beat friend was filled with vitality
Calls herself a productive drunk 
A college knowledge sponge
Was strong in business 
But with wrong choice in men
She was a doormat
And she died in her popularity
It did not bother Trisha that her world became small
When she could be on top of the world 
But her drinking made her a victim under the law
Her drinking never killed no one
For celebrating her birthday
As a witness to her son in court 
Force a breath test on the wrong day
My friend opens up good doors 
And bad doors 
With a love for cigarettes, alcohol, and abusive men 
Her health was poor
Trisha lived like a vampire
 Her home ransacked abandoned and unclaimed 
Suffered with her migraines
We both were good friends and shared each other’s pains
Trisha is a living memory forever
After her rose bush I claimed that was hers
That matched her personality
The crimson and the fragrance carries the same vitality

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  1. Date: 10/19/2012 2:36:00 AM
    Whoa! Cigaretes, alcohol and abusive men -talk about a recipe for disaster! Unfortunately it is a recipe many follow to their detriment. Very well written Jennifer!

  1. Date: 8/11/2012 4:48:00 PM
    such a shame, alcohol has ruined many lives. thanks for sharing this poem.