Part of my job at the bakery
is handing out chocolate chip cookies
to happy drunks, chill stoners, and the
lone **** user.

Her approach had been shuffled slightly timid.
She moved, animal-quiet, up to the counter.
The pale white of her dress a stark contrast
to the inky pools brimming in her
irises and the jet in her hair.
An unnerving stillness settled around her
as she came to rest less than ten feet away.
Large, black eyes blankly inspected me.
Scabs ringed her mouth and I watched them
move in sync with her lips as she formed language.

I heard nothing.
I came in closer to hear better;
her wary gaze following my movements.
Up close her face was pocked and pitted.
Her pupils dimmed her starved features.

I asked, “Can I help you?”
Unblinking she parted her lips again.
On a whispered breath that ghosted
into hearing she requested
a cookie.

I handed her one wrapped in
blue tissue.
Ten slender fingers cautiously
came up to accept the baked good;
her oblivious yet observant stare never  
once straying from mine.
Her eyes were brick-lined wells.
And the longer I studied their depths
the more they collapsed inwards
away from me and the world.