Griming the ivory

The depth of your sorrow was visual  
Written in the tattoos that you wore  
You were discarded, forgotten and empty  
We offered you roses  
but you fixated on the thorns  
Just thirty-one  
and already  
so broken  
 
The drugs were your handler  
Laying out every waking second  
A lifestyle tethered to your spirit like moss  
Covering every inch with its breadth  
Parading over the ledges of death  
To choke you of life  
and honour  
   
Darkness moped over your existence  
Griming your ivory  
Paling your blood  
The soul collectors lurk around you  
Pawing at your gleam  
before incising the seams  
to release  
your essence  
 
Ripped away from life  
And so in breath  
   
To settle amongst the dishevel of an empty lot  
anchored amongst the nettles  
I’ll never know your final thoughts  
If only I could’ve crept into your head  
And pulled at the roots of the wither  
that feeds on the syrup of your wounds  
Then maybe I could’ve reached you  
to preach to  
the devil within  
that writ you of sin  
to just let you grow  
like the dandelions  
that decorate your parlour