The killer in me
stared diligently
at the latest
human oddity.

Little man
suffering
the sickness
of addiction,
spitting
spastic rage
as his energy faded.

The anger gave way
to admitting the pain
of living
prevented him
from quitting
cause existing
just wasn't enough
to maintain
a healthy mental state.

This was said
in his own slurring way
but I must paraphrase
because
I was too distracted
by the way he lay
quivering.

Eyes dimming
but reflecting
a past worth inspecting,
one of parents rejecting
and hitting him,
of ****** abuse
at the whim
of some predatory kin.

But,
even at the edge
he was still scheming,
thinking, and dreaming
about the next fix,
the one that would
heal or dull this
bad moment
for a bit.

Until,
his last breath
noted
the time of death.

He had a name
but no one will
remember it,
and tomorrow
he will be
less than a blip
in the local obits.