she sits on the curb
around 2am
drinking from a large dark glass bottle
swaying to her own soft singing
thinking her dark thoughts
and fighting the fights she never could fight
in person.

what has brought her to this place
doesn't matter.
bad choices and even worse
influences
every one's fault but her own,
if you let her
tell the story.

sitting on the curb,
throwing that dark glass bottle
as far as she can so she can hear the crash
laughing as sirens pass
and peeking eyes peer out of dark windows
to see what all the noise is about.

she tries to get up
falling the first time
another donkey bray of a laugh
then back on her feet.
to stroll and sway and sing and cry
screaming up at the cold street lights,
and anyone on this tiny street to happens to be awake,
how wrong her life has gone
how unfair it all is and how
if she had the chance,
well, she might just make the same mistakes
all over again.

her mistakes are all she has anymore
those tragic choices that reek of her
twisted thought processes.
they are the only things she can
breath on and buff up and show off
to the passersby.
as if her purpose in life
was to be a warning to others.
as if she did us all some great service
by taken a path only to mark it as hazardous.

she walks and she stumbles
she sways still softly singing
as the higher class wakes
and gets ready for work.
squinting at the rising sun
she disappears down allways
to tend to unknown day time activities.
but i know
she will be back as soon as
the street lights turn on
she will be back
with more stories and lessons
for those of us who can't seem to sleep.