For some reason he had latched onto Ralph.

Ralph was my morning coffee buddy on the cruise. Ralph, who looked 60, but was 79 was a gregarious, affable, “Eyetalian”. Now retired and living in SoCal, Ralph and I had struck up a friendship of sorts. 2 ‘old farts’ who woke with the dawn and didn’t want to disturb their roommates. So, Ralph would wander up to the Lido deck, where he had found me on the 2nd day of the cruise, and plop down across from me and share tales of his life.

OY! Such stories. But, this is Justin’s story not Ralph’s.

Some gentleness is Ralph attracted strays like Justin … “wounded boys” … like me.

Ralph had invited Justin to sit with us. So, Justin sat and began to share the sorry story of his life. 23: a meth addict, pierced, tattooed, drunk, and a cutter. He showed us the tattoo, some of which he had placed to cover the self-inflicted cut scars.

Justin was a sensitive guy who like so many sensitive souls couldn’t cope with the pain inside. So, at age 11 he started drinking. At age 13, or so, he graduated to precription drugs, and ‘blow’. By, 17 it was cocaine and ecstacy. Then came meth!

Now, at 23, the graduate of several stays in rehab, he was dreaming the delusion that after this cruise he would join the US Marine Corp. Naively believing that the Marines provide the structure that he needed. The men of Semper Fi would “smarten up his sorry ass!”

Ralph knew better but didn’t tell Justin. Ralph was a Marine and served in the Korean War. Ralph knew, all too well, that the last person the Marines would want was Justin.

I think about Justin from time to time. And, wonder what became of him.

Is he dead? Or, still drunk?

The following poem is for Justin and those sensitive souls who like him cut themselves to free the pain.

Sadness has seeped

Into every pore.

Soaking the fibres

Of my body.

Permeating every

Cranny and nook

Of my

Body, Mind, Soul.

Driving my Spirit

To the Stygian

Depths

Of Despair.

Immersed in

The honey sweet

Slime of Melancholy,

The searing ache

Of emptiness

Fills my mouth

With

Almond bitterness.

The tantalizing aroma

Of

Death beckons.

And,

The razor calls

To me.

Its siren song

Promising surcease:

The razor’s touch

Is a gentle whispering

Burn,

As the crimson

Streams of blood

Drain away

The pain;

The goddamn fucking Pain,

That is ever

So much with me.

How can I resist?

How can I ignore

Her song?

And. Yet somehow

Simply Bathing,

Wallowing,

In the chocolate sweetness

Of her

Painful embrace,

Seems enough.

For now.