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.