Ink sketches every inch of her skin.
The drawings represent more than a troubled child.
They display her thoughts;
things no human would dare think, much less portray on their bodies.
Loyal to the perfect world; perfect people we think we are.
Smoke consumes her, chewing at her organs.
Like a serial killer with a gun pointed at her forehead,
the bullet prepared to shoot at any wrong move, ending her life.
Drugs, drugs, alcohol, drugs.
Marijuana, vodka; she can't stop.
It brings her satisfaction; the illusion of euphoria.
It allures her, misleading her until it wrecks her.
And she doesn't stop. She doesn't want to stop.
Even as it murders her.
Share This Poem