Every day she hides her dreams under a
mattress right beside her dope habit.
Locked away from the world
so no one would know she’s slacken.
Rejecting help or intervention,
she’s in too deep, a basket case.
Shamefully hording this self-hatred,
her mind and heart have been replaced.
There’s only this vacant space, no tone,
an emptiness evoking a fading echo.
Grasping this fixation with all might,
like any addict, she can’t seem to let go.
Appetites perform disappearing acts,
skipping town without a trace or fragment.
With no subsistence in her belly, she’s
bulimic by default, vomiting gastric acid.
Roaming the streets searching for
evident answers; she in a haze, a trance.
I often wonder who she was in the past,
before she acquired this poisonous romance.
Shunned and not deemed as normal,
everyone passes her with no emotion.
With no love or protection she’s disowned,
suffering the withdrawals and hasty moments.
Instability chauffeurs her through life.
speeding and swerving with no license.
Driving in circles and losing direction,
she also lost herself in this crisis.
Maybe she belongs in the Land of the Lost
- Ms. Tioko