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.