Call me a prude
But consider,
Within a week
I'd watched you
Shoot up then wither
Eleven to three-and-twenty
Saw pictures of a baby,
And one of a coffin
So even though
You went before
My time of prime
And even though
I'm still younger
Than you were
In '93
When I saw you
Sitting, splayed
Head thrown back
Eyeballs a-rolling
Behind their lids
In criminal bliss
I felt like a mother
In woeful wonder
Was your life ever, ever
Ever screwed up like this?
Were you ever, ever
Ever messed up like this?
Could we ever, ever
Ever have saved you from this?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem