by Melissa Martin
11/04/2011 / Poetry
The casket lid was closed.
Crystal meth ravaged your face.
Only two attended,
me and the funeral director.
Your addiction burned
far too many bridges.
I sobbed with dry tears,
exhausted from fear and worry,
anger, sadness, despair, grief.
No headstone for your grave,
your disease emptied
my bank account long ago.
I close the photo album,
the memories are too heartrending.
Melissa writes about the God and human connection and condition.
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