05 December, 2005


I was thinking about my best friend who just one day lay down and died right in front of me and me being stoned just thought he was just taking a nap like he always did. I wrote this poem when I first learned how to read and write

Whose is that face behind the can
The face you hardly ever see
It could be you
It could be me
Swaying this way that
Speech a little slurred
Hands that shake with can
Eyes a little blurred
His day will start with a can or two
Then he'll beg for another few
Then feeling rough a little tired
Place him self up on the ground
Without a murmur without a sound
In your way he doesn't care
Doesn't matter if you're there
He says his world is full of fools
He Doesn't know it's just the booze
When he awakes and no booze is there
Has silent anger so much rage, beware
He'll beg and beg and beg some more
His normality will return for sure
This empty world is all he knows
But life for him just slowly goes
No real desire to change his ways
His way of life so full of yesterdays
On headstone some one wrote made it plain and clear
This man he was my friend
His way of life
It just brought him here

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