In the scorched city, death’s cruel scorn,
Ashen remnants, a legacy born.
A decaying father, addiction’s kin,
His life in flames, consumed within.
Chased away by fixations dark,
A walking corpse, a soul marked.
Creation turned to hunger’s throes,
No end in sight, the obsession grows.
Legs move forward, a relentless stride,
Addictions itch, at his throat, reside.
Knee-deep in the ash he seeks,
A tale of despair, where darkness speaks.
Buried deep, the tomb breathes slow,
Hands rise, from the grave, they go.
Begging for sleep, in shadows cold,
A tragic saga, the father’s hold.
Ricky Hurlich Shorts 