Georgie Gates

Georgie Gates © Bob Mullany 1976

No one knew what evil fate
Touched the birth of Georgie Gates
As he grew, he felt its weight
He learned to steal when he was eight
Breaking into boxes on the neighborhood pay phones

At ten he’s stealing his old man’s port
At twelve his first time in the court
With cocky walk and bold retort
At thirteen, he had his first snort
He found what he needed and he felt it to his bones

Home had turned into a drag
Dad had left and momma nagged
Real life was a quarter bag
A spoon, a match, a touch of skag
To give him warmth and company when he was all alone

He slept upon his sweaty sheets
And in the darkness hit the streets
With slippery hands and stealthy feet
Heart of ice and hands of heat
He knew what he needed and he got it on his own

For his crimes he finally paid
In a jail cell so afraid
No one knew he hid the blade
‘Til in the morning there it laid
Beside his bloody body with his wrists sliced to the bone

He went through life with two clenched fists
He went to death with two slashed wrists
Seldom liked and seldom kissed
Never loved and never missed
He pissed away his young life
Like one pisses on a stone

Georgie Gates © Bob Mullany 1976

1 comment:

  1. "Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol, morphine or idealism."
    -Carl Jung