But For The Grace Of God by Ian Copestick

It's strange how things
turn out. Earlier tonight
I bumped into an old
drug acquaintance, it's
been a while since I last
had the misfortune to
see him. To say that
he's let himself go is
some kind of cruel
understatement. My wife
phoned me and asked
" Who the hell was that
really ugly pregnant
woman you were talking
to ? " Well, that was Gaz.
15 years or so ago I used
to occasionally meet up
with him and we'd score
together. What has led him
to countless prison stays
and resembling an ugly
( unbelievably so) pregnant
woman ? What has led me
to being clean of drugs, and
although I'm no oil painting,
I don't think I look like an
incredibly ugly pregnant
woman ? I could say that
Gaz was never the most
clued up, intelligent guy
in the world, but I've been
about enough to know
that when it comes to
addictions, intelligence
has got nothing to do
with it. I suppose it all
comes down to sheer
luck, where you go on a
certain day and who you
happen to meet. There
but for the grace of God
go I ( or you.)

Ian Lewis Copestick is a 46 year old writer (I prefer that term to poet ) from Stoke on Trent, England. I spend most of my life sitting,  thinking then sometimes writing. I have been published in Anti Heroin Chic, the Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry, Synchronized Chaos, the Rye Whiskey Review, Medusa's Kitchen and Horror Sleaze Trash.