• finnisam 39w

    Plastic On Pale Skin

    Destiny to dream, eyes of ecstasy roaming.
    All is what it seems, the narcotised mouth is foaming.
    A needle in the wrist, a bottle in the hand,
    pills in his fist numbered like the sand.
    Eyes wide open, eyes soon shut.
    A scribbled note lies near his foot.

    Momentary interest to those who found him,
    overdose. Case open. Case shut. He dies with this sin.
    Another one lost, the officer says with indifference,
    if only his cries for help were persistent.
    Blame. Blame for the dead.

    Pain. Pain left unsaid.
    The zip of the body bag, plastic on pale skin,
    he remembered them, and they forgot him.
    But the book lay open on the table,
    the book that they called a fable.
    Hope still lingered in that sordid room,
    And his thread remained on the loom.

    ©finnisam