The last high
I wonder if she knew it was her last hit,
as she crouched in the corner, back against the wall.
Coke exhausted, herb not an issue,
No veins left to speedball.
Visions of life and deep seated regret,
Isolation, misunderstanding, estranged children of neglect.
Glancing around at what little she owned.
Fresh out of prison, no family, no home.
Thrown to the wind for not living right,
family sent her to the cold arms of the night.
Intelligence and career, permanently driven away.
Flashing images, as she shot up that day.
Too high to scream, she fell to the ground.
Five days later in that spot she was found
as if in the womb, but partially decomposed.
Jane doe tags attached to her left toe,
"she brought it on herself", were the words of some.
But laying there, was some child's, grand mom,
Laying there was repentance unfulfilled.
Laying there was a woman that chemical slavery killed.
