Infectious Tragedy

A man swallows a bottle of xanax; he is a dreamer, for the very last time.
Finally found true salvation- a simpler cure of an evil kind.
Decay will feast upon Fantasy, as Nightmares come to life.
No final notes, and no reasoning, no regrets as he closed his eyes.

And if you start to wonder, and search for reasons "why",
Ask only why YOU do not wish to cut all restrictive ties.
Some will say he's Hell-bound, that only prayers could "make it right".
(Now we may never know, but I say the bastard did his time.)

His child becomes a statue: angry and absent of hope,
An intelligent creature quickly learned not to let anyone close.
"It wasn't hard," he told me, "when to you, love is only a joke."
Too early, in his life, it was already too late- a story frequently told.