I ghost quietly past the dormant stone; slumped
Stone he might as well be for all the life he portrays
Catching the subtle glint of light on legal poison
I double take to eye the fount in question
A sweat-slicked tab sits bent and motionless
Atop the foreboding black entrance to a dented can
And the room reeks of laziness and fear
The second scent makes a timid trail leading up the stairs to a
Safer haven away from the sleeping beast,
One prone to sputtering fits of rage that leaves bruises
even he'll worry about the next day
Yet you find that pang of remorse
Who wouldn't after watching someone drink a mouthful of dirt
Out of their own grave?
Despite the traces of past ignorance throbbing along your arm
In purple patches
You cautiously creep across the refuse of a week of repetition
And slip the newly empty clip from the gun that is his callused hand
With one more pitiful look at your stereotypical role model
You trudge to the trash to toss the painful reminder among the heap
Of specimens just like it
But the sleeper stirs in the next room, unconscious tears muddling its vision
And you scurry up the stairs after the fading scent of half-promised security