Harsh Reality

she ran her fingers down his cheek,
And across his weathered shoulder,
in and out of the holes in his t shirt,
down his emancipated arms,
tracing the track marks with her fingernail,
there was a fresh plaster today,
that made 4,
4 pieces of tape holding his arm together
she felt loss for the fallen pieces of her man,
soon he would have more plaster than skin,
she wanted to chuckle at the thought of her plaster man,
but she didn’t have the energy,
they hadn’t eaten today,
she couldn’t remember if she’d eaten yesterday either,
An open can of cider lay on the floorboards next to her mattress,
At least she’d  had something she thought to herself,
there was an odour in the air,
a off smell,
she thought she recognised it but...
couldn’t quite focus on it,
It’s familiarity danced in the background of her thoughts,
“what’s the smell”
she asked,
“hey”
she summoned what energy she had and nudged him,
“wake up lover” she half spoke,
half slurred,
“hey” she said again,
She tried to concentrate on when he’d last got high,
she couldn’t think of when she’d last got high,
She knew she’d been asleep,
“Wake up”
She threw her arm over his shoulder and pulled him over towards her,
His eyes were open,
His mouth was open..
All at once she remembered that smell,
Suddenly she remembered everything,
In that moment,
She was left with nothing,
Nothing but the recognition of what death smelt like.

Copyright © Warren Marc | Year Posted 2019

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