I sat across from a lady today.
She looked tired—
not sleepy tired, but tired.
Tired of life,
tired of chasing a drug
that just ends up ******* you over in the end.
Tired of the chase,
waking up every morning
just to figure out how to get the next fix.

She smiled and laughed,
but you could hear the pain when she talked.
*****, drugged, sold her body—
all the things she endured
just because she needed a fix.

Today, she said she wanted out of the lifestyle.
She talked about her previous clean time.
She wants inpatient,
but everyone is telling her it’s a waste.
My heart hurts
because I fear she may believe them.

I reminded her she was beautiful,
that she still had so much life left to live.

She sat quietly,
counting change out of her purse.
When asked what she needed,
she shrugged and said,
“I need my next fix.”