fuck heroin

you told me, i’m a fighter,

you told me, you’d always be here.

you were your sister’s protector, and I’m my brother’s keeper,

you suffered

a nasty hurricane that drug you and spun you and knocked you out of your control,

you suffered

a nasty sickness, a horrific underplaying, the white noise silence followed by the screaming and gas killing like the holocaust,

you

were the one who drove me through town with the music turned up with disney singalongs,

you

were the one who came to my dance recitals,

you knew i could accomplish anything

you

sat under the table where i was hiding and crying and you told me i was worthy

you

were the one that never gave up on me,

you understood me and got me when mom and dad couldn’t

you

were the most joyful and genuine and caring person i knew

i’ve never seen someone as shy and joyful and humorous as

you,

were the one person i loved the most yet was afraid of at the same time, you...

 

came home drunk and slammed the door, when i was 8 and couldn’t understand

what was happening,

you

beat my dad and he beat you and stopped only when i ran down the stairs yelling stop,

you

came home a different person every night

when you were sober, i saw my brother.

my big brother.

we met again and all was merry

then you were sucked into the vaccuumed whirlpool

when i became afraid of you once again

and my biggest fear came true when you shot that last needle,

 

that last fucking needle.

 

the one that was your first in thirty fucking days

that caught you like a jaguar catches his prey,

it’s been a year and i haven’t accepted it

i don’t know if i’ll ever

accept it,

your death was the reason i almost killed myself,

while at the same time you,

are the reason i stayed alive

.

.

I still sleep with your pillow, I still sleep in your favorite sweatshirt which hangs to my knees,

i still wake up in sweats because i had a dream you were in danger

i still have flashbacks when i hear your name,

when i see a homeless man high on the street

every time i hear a door slam

or watch a fight scene on tv

 

I’m still pissed at your dad for getting high & drunk with you,

i’m still mad at the guy who sold you your last hit.

I’m still mad that the fucking mud took you,

i’m still mad you weren’t there for my high school graduation,

i’m still mad you’re not watching me fight like hell for life,

i’m still mad

.

(breath)

I’m still mad.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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