Little Balls of Cotton

Little Balls of Cotton

A Poem by Christopher Norton
"

My first look into a new kind of hopelessness and loss.

"
     Little balls of cotton strewn across the floor of a shabby studio apartment. Remnants of a love-hate battle that stretched on for years, ended in silence and isolation. A burnt and dirty spoon, several, tiny gauge syringes and the personal effects of a lost soul that used to have a name. Here is a photo of a happy child and a woman who could be his mother. Careworn and faded, nameless and forgotten. Just throw it into the bag with the rest of the trash. 

      It’s not a mystery. How many other apartments in this building have played the stage to this story? The dim halls with the red and black checkerboard tiles and flickering fluorescent lights are choked with the ghosts of the sad and lonely people who took their, last desperate gasp in a cell of chipped plaster and peeling paint. The walls speak of a desperation and longing, hearts that are always empty. Even in daylight, the pall of hopeless release darkens every corner of this space. “Never enough” is the whisper in the cobwebs and shadows.

      These shrines to tragedy and regret were at first shocking. I held the picture in my hands for fifteen minutes, sure that the person in the picture would come in and say “Don’t throw that away!!! That is my only picture of my mom!!!” but I just stood there staring at the people in the picture, realizing that they were lost forever. So it went into a bag along with a pair of shoes and a blanket that might have been this guy’s last treasured possession after trading everything else for the dirty, warm embrace of the love that comes in little blue waxen envelopes. “Don’t Try” was the stamp on the few scattered around my feet. Desperately torn and pilfered for every last grain of brown powder. Somewhere, the devil is laughing at the irony. 


     What could make someone drift so far from shore? Were they modern day Icarus who flew to close to the sun? Did the holes in their hearts become so large that they were swallowed whole? So many of these little vignettes telling the same, short story. A different, person in each picture, but always some vestige of the warm, happy person who set out and became just another specter, haunting the corridors of this blighted death house. A teddy bear waits on a mattress for the loving arms of the lost child that will never return.

      


© 2014 Christopher Norton



Author's Note

Christopher Norton
What do I say here? This is what it is.

My Review

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Featured Review

This is tragic. Your writing is very respectful. I was moved. the final line really got to me.
Thanks for the brief glimpse into a nightmare world that hardly seems possible from where I am sat today but which must be all too easy to enter and not come out again.
This is another manifestation of Hell on the Earth.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Very nice. You should really keep at it! I'll read the other pieces tomorrow, good luck to you!

Posted 2 Years Ago


This is tragic. Your writing is very respectful. I was moved. the final line really got to me.
Thanks for the brief glimpse into a nightmare world that hardly seems possible from where I am sat today but which must be all too easy to enter and not come out again.
This is another manifestation of Hell on the Earth.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Oh my goodness, this is so good. I am blown away. In the faves.

Posted 3 Years Ago


Such a sad read...this one really moved me, esp the last sentence x

Posted 3 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Thanks for the review Glen. You always have something thoughtful and intelligent to say. I tried to be as naked as possible in this. I tend to be very wordy and many times, I feel like my writing comes off as emotionally dishonest. This was part of a very dark chapter in my life. It was my first look at the destructiveness of "the life". I started off 1998 as someone completely different than the shellshocked, husk I've become.

Posted 3 Years Ago


Hits hard...in the lines of this one...
just keeps going as you say in the Author's note --- this is what it is...
I liked how you put the picture as the main focus...
keeps us back and forth in the read...
the ending just puts this to rest...

Posted 3 Years Ago


An interesting poem and things....:).................

Posted 3 Years Ago



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Added on March 4, 2014
Last Updated on March 4, 2014
Tags: drugs, heroine, death, abandonment, hope, hopeless, dope, life

Author

Christopher Norton
Christopher Norton

S. Glens Falls, NY



About
Subtlety is not my style. How can I describe myself without sounding self-indulgent? I could say something dark and clever but the truth is, I'm an uneducated, high school dropout who has never don.. more..

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