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She cried somber tears with each sad suicide attempt, 
      delirious due to drunkenness as dying is what she dreamt.
Each catastrophe callus, ungrateful for her creation, 
                adversity was always her anguish; no aid in alleviation. 
Lessoning of love became her lockdown and lamentation,
   troubles with temptation became her final tribulation. 

        Worried was I when she was wistful and full of woe,
unconsolable and unglued taken down by the undertow. 
     Battered and broken she began to breathe in black,
               living life just to make up for the love she did lack. 
Her pain was so pitiful so a purple leather bag she did pack,
      in her autobiography she wrote anecdotes of addiction’s attack.

     She fought the farewell fever not knowing death wouldn’t free,
her melancholic and morose life of mania and misery.
I reminisce and feel regret for the ruby red blood she radiated, 
        contentedness was never common, coerced by chaos she created. 
Sorrowfully stuck, in solitude in sadness she was saturated,
      even though she was my hero it was herself she habitually hated.  

        So I sit here in seclusion and am sentenced to a life of shame…
        forgiveness can’t be found when ignited by fear’s forever flame. 


March 31, 2018

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