The Victim

Most people who use are selfish.

They hide away and do as the please,

like their family couldn’t care less.

I watched helplessly as my brother slowly decayed.

How would I say goodbye?

As I know we will surely bade.

My perfect brother became erratic.

Skipping class, ignoring friends,

just hiding away in the attic.

I witnessed his health decrease.

His psyche never at ease.

Pacing back and forth.

Scattered words, vicious actions.

Who would ever predict that this would happen?

I lost my beloved brother.

A friend, a movie mate, a tutor.

Never did he try to stop once,

and think of our family and I.

Never did he consider the consequences.

My mother won’t pass his room,

the door remains safely closed.

My father, in eager to escape this greif,

stays away from home all of the time now.

Me?

I stay in my room, and write to you.

The victim, the addict, the lonesome.

Don’t turn to the drugs.

Think of your family and loved ones.

Think of the constant pain you will put the through,

just to feel on top of the world for a few minutes.

You don’t know who of us all is in it.

Don’t turn down that road.

Don’t make us the victim.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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