BOY IN WHITE
The boy in white we called him at first, but now it’s time for me to tell you all about a boy I once knew, and his name was Jay;
He was one of my best friends, until death came along and took him away.
When I first saw him he had it all, brand new tracksuits, trainers which shone so new, a girlfriend and so much jewellery he looked like a white version of Mr. T;
He didn’t drink or do drugs, he was just homeless, and had fallen out with his family.
We invited him to come and hang around with us, to save him being locked away in his cell;
He said he couldn’t sleep at night, as the screams echoing from inside the homeless shelter made him feel like he had just fallen into hell.
I explained it takes time to get use to the demons, just make sure to never let them see you are scared;
In his heart he was a good man, but his body and soul were just so unprepared.
After a few weeks the boy in white had turned into a musty looking cream;
His trainers now looked battered, and his girlfriend had gone, no longer wanting to stick around to share with him a dream.
He came and sat next to me looking broken, I could see in his eyes he was desperate to break down and cry;
He kept whispering “why did she have to leave, I didn’t even get the chance to say my goodbye”.
The next few weeks he started to hang around with the demons, the scar faced devil that pushed youngsters onto heroin and crack;
We noticed Jay wasn’t himself anymore, he had turned from the boy in white, into the boy who was now addicted to smack.
I tried to reach out to save him, but the drugs were all he wanted to know, he didn’t even give himself a fighting chance;
His days and nights had turned into a blur, as he just sat there in his spaced out trance.
We didn’t see Jay for 3 days, so we asked a staff member to let us into his flat as we hadn’t seen him around;
As we walked in there was total silence, as we stood there staring at Jay lying white and motionless in the corner on the ground.
He had a strap around his arm with a bloody needle sticking out, his lips were blue, I remember thinking he can’t really be dead;
But then the maggots came crawling out from his mouth and eyes, and to this day I cannot ever get that image outside of my head.
Then the smell hit me, and I am sorry but with a pen I cannot describe just what a rotten corpse smells like, I guess it’s the smell of death;
The room then seemed to turn so cold, I could even see my breath.
The staff ushered us out, my friends and I look at each other totally speechless, not really knowing what to say or do;
I am writing this poem many years later, just to say to the boy in white that we will never forget you.
BARRY MOWLES ©2012