The Final Comedown

The call came today

Just a short while ago

Said you won't be coming back

They weren't sure what transpired,

But I already know.

Another deal gone wrong.

You must not have had all his dough.

.

Those pick-me-ups your customers so readily relied on?

I cautioned you'd become dependent upon 'em.

"Keep your nose clean.

Those L.A. streets are dirty, unforgiving, and mean."

.

It's hard to support a lifestyle 

Which leaves its victims lying on the bathroom tile.

All of those years of effort you put forth, 

Saving up to move to the land of sea, sun, and surf.

.

Was L.A. all you dreamed of?

Is this how much it's worth?

Your life?

Why did you have to go and get involved with that turf?

.

All the years we had together

You were closer than my brother.

I believed in you like no other.

You could've made it on your own.

If you'd had faith in yourself the way the rest of us did.

Focused all your skills and that fire?

Someday you would've succeeded in building your empire.

.

If anyone could chase their dreams,

Make them come true?

My bet would always be on you.

You had the golden touch,

That Midas clutch.

.

Despite your struggles, you rose above.

Every obstacle so easily overcome.

Your mom had your back,

"He's going to be the one!

He'll make sure my sacrifices weren't in vain."

.

Now just look…

She's screaming out in pain.

Where's her boy?

"Someone bring him home!"

Now she's there.

She's all alone.

.

I know you felt uncertain,

Being out there on your own.

You got sucked in.

Now those city streets have turned their back on you.

Just the latest victim on a never-ending list.

.

The call came in much too late.

There was nothing I could do.

Now I'm staring at your closet, trying to determine which tie, which shoe…

Does it really matter?

All I feel is the inconceivable loss of you.

So much life left to live.

Passion and talent still to give.

.

You possessed such a fire,

An unextinguishable light.

It doesn't seem real that you'd be shot down in a petty fight.

How many more lives will those streets claim?

How many more will be lost while seeking to make a name?

You moved out west, dreaming only of fame;

A brilliant marquee sporting your name.

Instead? You're just another victim of the drug game.

. . .

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Photo Credit: Bahman Adlou

This poem was originally published on Medium: