The last time he saw his mother
was fifteen years ago.
The more he got fucked up,
the less she wanted to see her own baby.
He couldn't bring himself to stop.
He only allowed himself to think about her
when doing lines of coke in bar bathrooms.
Sometimes the image of her face
would dance around his mind
when he would sell himself to wealthy politicans
for forty bucks an hour.
Being a bottom was his fastest way to a high-
some nice rock could last him a week.
The H messed him up the most.
Liquid pleasure with a terrible coming-down.
Fifteen years after it all went bad
and now he's crying on a dirty carpet-
begging for his mother.