** It’s a Drag **

Woke up this morning and couldn’t convince herself to get out of bed. Everything around her was deteriorating. Left overs from the night before were starting to smell like the dumpster beind the house. Nothing lasts forever. Pretty soon, her teeth will fall out and her hair will turn gray. And it scares her to think that she’s nowhere closer this morning to knowing what it is she wants to do with her life than she was the night before. Suffice it to say that she’s stuck the same way she is when she can’t get out of bed. Sometimes he’ll bring out a bowl and she can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to take a hit. Just a little. Just to see how it feels. Will it knock her on her ass? Oh well. Just one more bruise and life is still peachy. It’s funny how things work out. In two drags she’ll finish off her pack and throw it away before opening another because piles will prove just how little she is. A trash can with a lid that covers hides the fact that she’s drinking before her time. But if she don’t see it, its not really there. Like the girl who wears bands on her wrists to cover strawberry gashes from the night before. It’s only real if it’s tangible to someone else. She wont go to class today. It’s nice out, but inside she can’t tell the difference. One more drag. One more day. Tonight she’ll feast on strawberries and tomorrow there’ll be one more band to cover her pretty wrists. One more drag. And then you realize, you’re killing yourself.