His hair turned blue as he cooked cocaine
He grew sober that night;
With fumes a curling around
His tousled sand jacket.
He'd had friction
That night
His girlfriend was a druggy
Her simple absence of such,
Never ended with a sexual
Goodbye.
In fact,
He loosely recounted
Those sheltered moments in her arms
Swaying.
Now she was laid out.
In a coffin,
Under a man,
Victimized by the sulfur
Of Satan's whisper.