This poem is about a former girlfriend who was addicted to cocaine. Me showing how much I cared for her didn't matter to her. Because I cared, she did not treat me very well. Her mind was so tragically taken from her addiction that she displayed the only thing that she was use to, evil, and believing that other people are taking advantage of her, which they probably were. In her life, she really didn't feel love...just people trying to have sex with her and sell her drugs. she was not use to someone caring about her...thus the reason she treated me badly.
Culture witnessed in just one mind,
I find blood of a society woman,
the stalemate of my midnight sculpture;
death of love always unto me,
she stares at me as if prey for mouths of vultures,
stale clay of trust going blind;
Still I ponder the very best
no matter if I kill and destroy;
If I put her to rest,
will I die from love or the love of death?
Paul Hickey
11-14-11
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