Dead Man Walking at Seventeen

He had a hundred years written
into his seventeen year old eyes
aged by his deadly lover
he was just a boy
young
handsome
rebellious
confused
on his way
to an early
senseless
death

His mother
as worn as he
crying
her sobs recalcitrant
the pains
of birthing him
paled
to the hurt
of possibly
losing him
worry
fear
grief

on her way
to more
sleepless nights
dread filled days

Father waiting
for the inevitable
insides twisted in a knot
trembling hands
holding a smoke
waiting for the call
beat up
gunshot
dead
where did I go wrong
what did I miss
what could I have done

The call of his lover
evicted all sensibility
that he had been given
headlong into the grasp
stamp bag
release
do it again
over
and
over
relentless
futile
beyond hope
and help
self inflicted
destruction

Death
at seventeen
awaits him
in a 29 gauge needle
and a ten dollar
stamp bag of dope

few survive her deadly hold
most wind up incarcerated
many die
for what
the thrill
a moment
how sad
for them
and those
who dare
love them

she is
mystifyingly
indiscriminate
unkind
unloving
deceptive
deadly

he sees the others
and believes
that it is their
bad luck
misfortune
karma
fate
misfortune
not his

he has
bought the lie
about the truth
rather than
the truth
about the lie
condemned
sentenced
serving
his time
in his
self imposed
prison
hopeless
Godless
DOOMED