One Way Street

I woke up on a one-way street
dying from addiction.
You were there,
with hopeless care,
still framing forms of fiction.
I looked above and saw the sky
spread wide and overcast
I lent an ear,
with reflex fear,
and listened as you asked:
"What is this, this game we play?
 When will it finally end?"
I said, my dear I do not know
though odds are we'll depend
on higher hopes,
and strands of faith,
on nights unending
pending fate,
and this is how we'll come to cease
when least expected, vexed with grief.