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In Mourning

You were supposed to beautiful.

Your hair was supposed to fade into white with age.

Your smile was to be brighter than the sun to your grandsons’ and granddaughters’ faces

You were supposed to be the realization of the slave’s dignity,

The reason they endured through their trial and tribulations and waded through the water.

You were supposed to be the future that begot one whose future was even brighter.

You were supposed to be beautiful.

You were supposed to be beautiful, but you chose a crack pipe and a lighter.

You smoked up dreams greater than just you.

You spent time on your back giving away a tarnished version of the goods on a dingy basement floor for hit.

Your children—their grandmother raised them, and they clearly despise you.

You gave the beauty away for a moment’s escape chasing a high that has been elusive and has gotten away from your grasp.

Now your substance is fading away. Your substance has left. Probably left where your morals were left.

No longer claiming your existence: The scum of the earth. The gutter. The ignored and the forgotten. The not invited to participate in the future because you are just one hit away from death.

You were supposed to beautiful.

You were supposed to be beautiful, but now only fragmented pieces of beauty are left behind and more and more fall away each day and fade as you continue to live your life half dead.

You were supposed to be beautiful.