The Junkie Philosopher

The junkie philosopher dwelled in
Smoke filled rooms in bad hotels and
Shit bars in broke down sides of town.
His clothes were always ripped and
His arms always showed tracks.
His words were always slurred and
His mind was always tormented.  
I found him near dead in an alley at
Night coughing blood into a dirty rag and  
Clutching a pile of notebooks to his chest.
“Just another starving artist” I thought,
But as I got closer, he gave me this stare.
I knew that stare. I had that stare.
He begged me to show his writings
To the world, he said “They may just
Save some lost soul from a terrible fate.”
So I took them and told him I’d do my best.
Then, his once fixed eyes started to give in and close.  
Soon after, he was gone. I never even knew his name.  
The process took damn near ten years but finally
His ideas caught the attention of the masses.
Turns out that junkie had a point that needed to be made,
That maybe life isn't all pillows and roses but rather--hell.