Just a Statisic

He's afraid of needles, so he grabs some foil, he burns the powder, till it starts to boil. He inhales the vapors till he gets what he needs, his addiction, the only thing left he has to feed. She sits alone, on a tattered old couch, aching and shaking, reaching for her pouch. In a painful withdrawal, she needs a hit soon, so she pulls out her lighter, her needle and spoon. He sees a young boy playing in a yard, he thought he could quit, but it's just too hard. She once was a mother, and her life had hope, till c.p.s came when she found her friend dope. They live on the streets, just pawns in a game, no more self respect, no more shame, as long they have smack to shoot in their veins, they don't care about a thing, not even their names, the dope their slave master they let put them in chains. On the straight path, till H got em twisted, gave them this habit, and they can't seem to kick it, lives so broken and no way to fix it, they once had a family, the old life, do they miss it? A terrible way to live, and I saw them live it, I saw two wonderful people become another statistic