American Nightmare

For a friend who overdosed

Living the dream.

“Inside” he was torn to pieces.

Heartbroken with disappointments and resentments.

Guilt stricken with “what if’s”.

On the outside he had what we all would consider the American dream?

A two story house with a picket fence. One boy, one girl. A lovely wife.

Retired at the age of forty-five.  Money was never an issue.

Money could not buy him what he needed.

When we would go out to eat, and the server would ask,

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”  

He would say, “Yes, some peace and serenity.”

Nick never found it.

He could not get it.

He tried to fit in.

But the disease of addiction took him in.

He was not the average addict one would think of.

He looked like a white collar mid-age guy with grey fine hair and big blue eyes

That twinkle like moon light.

His voice was clam and soft like a lullaby.

His demeanor was like an average nice guy.

Memories of him run through my head.

I imagine him where ever I go

The person he was before his addiction took control.

He was a lost boy trapped in a man’s body.

He would try to please everybody like “captain save an addict”.

He went miles to give people rides,

Just to find out it was all lies.

People used him and abused him.

They never got to know the man behind the blue eyes.

The man who did not know who he was.

The man that did not know what he wanted.

The man that got by the only way he knew how

By hitting that crack pipe one more time.

 Salvation he found in her.

 Under every skirt there is a slip they say.

 This slip leads him to bankruptcy then death.

 Death from a poison he never knew.

 Crack did not kill him.

 One hit was always too many and thousands never enough to stop his heart.

 But, only one shot of heroin did it.

 With her sitting there grinning.

 Now she can have it all.

 The forbidden fruit she was and many jams came in their way.

 A love triangle filled with drugs, sex, and drama ended his life.

 Let this be a lesson. Let this be the example.

 Money, drugs, or sex cannot buy happiness.

 Peace and serenity is not handed out.

 The American dream turned into a nightmare.

 Rest in peace, Nick.

 Jenny

Jennifer Paul writes as a hobby.  In her free time she writes poetry based on her life.  Most of Jennifer’s poems are true stories. 

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