1 Poem by
Gena Smith
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What You Have Become
The doorbell rings.
My heart sinks when I see it's them,
Here to deliver your dose of euphoria.
Even though we share the apartment,
Everyone packs into your room
As you lock the door,
Thinking if I don't see,
I won't know.
But you fail to realize,
In your desperate need,
That logic and heroin
Aren't a compatible couple.
Standing alone in the kitchen,
I become angry when I realize
There isn't a single straight spoon
To be found in the house.
Are the needles clean,
Or do you share?
Do you ever become so wasted
That the needle stays dangling from your vein?
Do you even regret--or remember--
The dehumanizing misdeeds performed
To feed your mawing addiction?
I worry about AIDS, embolisms
And overdoses
Because you don't...can't...won't.
You and I were once so close;
I adored you--
The cool, laughing Older Brother
Who made Little Sister feel so special
When no one else did.
But with the opium-borne demon
Riding fast in your veins,
You swiftly broke my heart...
Spitting in my face.
Calling me vulgar names.
Blacking my eye.
Standing naked before me
With a knife in your hand,
While asking me if I know
How a brother shows his love?
The hollow-eyed creature I last saw,
I did not recognize;
That was not my Favorite Brother,
The pathetic junkie who wore your skin.
To me, that gentle man is dead
And I've had to say my good-byes.
As the days become years,
I still wonder how you fare.
Do you haunt the streets,
Like so many other lost souls?
Do you find your feast
In fast-food garbage dumps?
Are you even alive or dead?
I will always remember
The loving young man you were.
But I will never miss
What you have become.
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