The soft somber music and whispering
At the wake set the sober scene
Of despair and silent tumult
I have witnessed too many times
Another too young corpse
Another Fentanyl whoopsie ?
I looked into the empty eyes
Of the corpse and shuddered
(And I say corpse to be accurate)
This was not my friend whose
Warmth I once felt across the room
And through the phone ...this was
A lifeless form, a tattered costume
That once housed a soul I loved deeply.
Where that ghost is now is up for
Conjecture, and I donīt pretend or portend
The calamity has passed and we need
To get shed of it like the living must
When butted up against the dead.