Black Tar Blood
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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