smoke escaped from your parted lips,
intoxicating the room with its stench
and your hands shaking with the syringe,
aiming for a lesser bruised area in your arm;

"this is the last hit, I swear..."

before she had kicked you out,
you had stolen over a hundred-fifty dollars
from your very own mother's wallet
to fuel this cruel addiction of yours;

"I'm not addicted..."

just look at you:

rotten teeth like those of maybe a rat's,
face all wrinkled as though you're older than 16,
bits and pieces of your skin picked and dug deep,
and only some patches of hair remain.

"I won't be like her..."

no one else will be attracted to you
like she is, your drug dealer and girlfriend;
together you'll live in isolation somewhere,
with lack of sleep and a high dose of euphoria.

"the only harm being done is to myself..."

tell that to the cops as they bring a warrant
to search your current place of residency
and discover your kitchen for making more,

tell that to the cops as they drag you to jail
to force you into rehabilitation for help
and keep you there until you're all better.