Snow

His dead eyes gaze upon me
His presence like bare feet stomping upon
broken shards of glass
His touch like piercing knives cutting
my skin
Leaving me with bruises on end
And his voice, empty and dead
He speaks yet no words of importance
He stands on the corner
waiting for the envious green
His eyes are no longer black but green
Green and black,
that's all that's left
His obvious score white or bottled
can or glass
fifth or pint
gram or eight
That person that I used to know
Left me some time ago
replaced me with a new love
Her name was SNOW.
Snow white was his love but shared
his love with Hennisey
Took him to another level
Blissful and content
Then he'd crash like a plane without fuel
A plane on auto-pilot without a low fuel reminder
Looking for his next score
Walking the streets
asking all his hypes for treats
Never to stand on his own two-feet
But on fours like a dog whining for a milk-bone or a piece of bacon
Knocking on your day
Itching and scratching
Begging but if you can't obtain it
why not just take it
Seventeen cuts of deep reminders
Seventeen slices, he cut for blow
Lost in his world
Lost in his soul
He walks the streets and awaits his love Snow.