death before the Eve

Death before the NEW YEAR


For a week I heard music from his house, it went on day and night, but not loud enough

to annoy anyone. Last time I saw him, he looked ravaged by

his drug addiction remembered him as a young man,

I knew he was gay which is a no; in our little village, we all turned a blind eye. 

His addiction had made him ugly I thought of the painting in the attic

in the book Dorian Grey, by Oscar Wilde, it was shortly

before the New Year, he was found dead in a filthy little hotel.

At fifty-two he was too young to die, but his last twenty years

had been a struggle against heroin, or some other drug,

perhaps it was for the best. That sentence was disgustingly trite,

what the hell do I know?






🌷 (2)

◄ night frost

a shitty place ►


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Sat 13th Jan 2018 10:00

to me, and like you every life matters jan even if it doesn't to many uncaring others

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Douglas MacGowan

Sat 13th Jan 2018 08:13

A very soulful poem about such a strong loss. A person unloved and forgettable. It's nice you have created this memoriam.

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