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Poem
A smile. It's hard to tell whether that smile 
is genuine or just masking a plethora of 
secrets. The sparkle in your eyes suggests 
honesty, but the whites of your eyes are 
stained with tiny red lightening bolts. 
Sweetheart, what storms have you faced? 
No one knows of the events you've 
witnessed, the memories that you try to 
repress. When people see a lost soul they 
are quick to judge. She wishes someone 
could walk a mile in her shoes, but the 
shoes would break before the mile is up, 
since they are too worn down from the 
countless nights that she ran away, trying 
to escape the hell that was her life. 
Constantly, she dreams of a better life. 
She wants to go to college and make an 
honest living. But college costs money, 
and no one wants to hire someone so 
young...except for the men with the black 
tar blood. And wandering the streets is 
such a familiar task that the idea seems 
comforting. Though the red light district is 
anything but comfortable, try corrupt. But 
money is motive and soon heroin is too. 
Sweetie, what happened to you your 
dreams? Did they disappear amongst your 
conscience that first night that you shot 
up? Your eyes have changed, now I can't 
seem to find a trace of honesty. Your 
parents haven't bothered looking for you. 
Why didn't you just tell them the truth? 
That you only said those words so that 
they would let you leave. That you'd come 
back in just four years with money and a 
degree, and they could love you again. But 
people with black tar blood are not 
ccommonly loved. Soon she will take her 
last breath. A person with good intentions, 
who made bad decisions. The day she 
died, no one truly knew her. No one knew 
that she wanted to go to college, that her 
favorite color was blue. Her parents didn't 
mourn. They simply shook their heads 
with shame, said she'd done this to 
herself. But when her eyes rolled back, I 
caught a glimpse of honesty, and the 
remnants of the same red lightening bolts.
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