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At first I thought I was day dreaming,
but very soon I realised I was not.
The man I was looking at died weeks ago
from an overdose of cocaine and pot.

The man I once knew saw me staring,
his pupils were gone from his eyes.
He was obviously a dead man walking,
and I hadn’t the time to ask him why.

My mind was in chaos with the situation;
it was unreal and just couldn’t be true.
But it was, and to prove it, I saw him,
but why, and what was I to do?

For a week I was edgy and scared witless,
and hoped I’d never see him again.
The early hours brought a knock at the door,
and someone out there spoke my name.

I looked through the door’s spy-hole,
and it was the man who was dead.
I told him this wasn’t the time for visitors,
and to come back at mid-day instead.

He said it was urgent that he spoke with me,
and I was to go with him right a way.
If I didn’t the consequences would be terrible,
and the ‘evil one’ would have the last say.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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