The smoke from her cigarette yellows her once porcelain white teeth.
The needle and rusty spoon lay dirty and used
just like her body.
Piss stained clothes line the floor,
and she takes one good look at her surroundings
Now, I'm just an outsider looking in.
Her Olive skin now resembles a worn-down bed sheet,
washed a few too many times in the wrong load.
Maybe there was a thrill in the high she was seeking.
Maybe it wasn't that at all
Maybe this world was too raw,
too real for her
And maybe, just maybe,
teetering on the edge of sanity
was the only way she knew to stay sane.
I can't remember the first time I saw someone
so withered, weak, and .
They're everywhere in this town.
I stare in awe, and horror at who my friends have become.
"Our minds are rotten, they say..."
"Too far gone to comprehend anything
other than how to get our sweet poison pumping through our veins..."
"I can't remember exactly when the pain started
or if it ever stopped.
But I do remember what it feels like to feel nothing at all.
but worst of all,
it's inconceivably addicting..." -Vicky Lyons