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The breath had left her, not long ago.
Her face, pressed into the pillow
Drained black tears onto white linen.
Her fight had been lost; the long battle had ravaged her
And her iconic war paint scrawled ironic defeat in tracks
Down her pale skin onto paler sheets.

A motionless husk; as she lays there;
Her raven hair, unravelled from familiarity,
Fall's delicately on her back,
Carefully caressing her cold shoulders;
Shielding her from the dawn of life from which now
She has withdrawn.

Soft silhouettes draped across pleated sails,
Her frail body, brittle and delicate, finally rested.
Tested beyond its limits, too high the cost
And too great the affliction.
Lost in the struggle of the addict
To the addiction.

And now her Palladian palace enshrines,
As the afternoon sun shines through gaps
In drawn blinds.
A silent room, ordered and decided,
Expects an arrival beyond the survival
Of the girl that had no more to lose.

In a time where spirits take spirits, she;
Three lifetimes lived in seven and twenty.
But here, at the very end in her empty home,
The girl that thought she was nothing,
Died for nothing,



◄ Lost

Waves (A Final Letter Home) ►


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Yvonne Brunton

Sun 17th Feb 2013 23:06

A strong piece which highlights the loneliness of the addict and the waste of a life. I love the line :-
'And her iconic war paint scrawled ironic defeat in tracks
Down her pale skin.'
and the sadness of the phrase:-
'at the very end in her lonely home'

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M.C. Newberry

Fri 15th Feb 2013 17:19

A poignant piece that sums up the pathos and the waste of the predicament. The final three lines are perfect

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