poor boy shone feeble against a starless sky before he flickered out to give up the ghost and die was there a moment when he knew his time had come? did he awaken in some faulty paradise reserved to losers and bums? or did he simply blink out as he spiralled away on his final moth man trajectory? prayers were said for him which fell on deaf ears the lesser god of hobos and junkies was just too stoned to hear his last gasp went unattended there were no fond farewells no intimate gestures he drowned alone in a pool of vomit there’s no dignity in that his sleep was too swift and deep to allow for human comfort we held a day of weeping but his name has long since faded from our lips no one here remembers his face and no one really cares
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