Alex

Upon your head lie greasy, unwashed strings,
Your face no longer to me gladness brings.
Your orbs are sunken, blank and bloodshot blue,
An ever flowing stream your nose does spew.
No longer rosy red but pallid cheeks,
You haven’t eaten in about two weeks.

Your bony flesh is bruised and marked with holes,
You haven’t any legs left, only poles.
Twice in and out of rehab you have been,
And still you can’t give up the heroin.
Your schizophrenia does not excuse
The way you heap upon yourself abuse.


In you I can no longer find my friend
He never would have come to such an end.
You are that healthy happy boy no more,
I cannot recognise you from before.
Where has he gone, my rosy, rowdy chum?