The Junky

The Junkie How skillful yet your monstrous face, that hides your love and gayer part from all who dares to try embrace with tender care and open heart. In solitude you live this life, this burden self-denial’s hate; that chose you as companion’s strife remembrance of a happier state you laugh inside yet snide and bark to every soul that cross your way your voice an echo and a lark when did you choose to go astray? For was there once a happy child that roamed; these bare and lifeless bones, you now call home and not so wild A scarecrow with the sorrow moans? will there ever be a substitute to guide you home to fires warm when (all you seek will constitute to a drop of death and a needle in your arm is ever there a moments truth that seeks your conscience and your mind to not forget and play aloof when parent grief and tries to find you who were their baby once the joyous bundle, gift of love now dependent on an ounce of powdered sin on wings of dove. or will you grant them just one day recollection of your childlike grace when they mourn and bow their heads to pray for mercy on your covered face when they stand alone at gravesite new trying to recall your joyous smile for long has gone the child they knew as soil covers your last and endless mile.