More Than A Statistic

Friends and Family come to grieve, all because they refused to believe.

Their disregards took their toll, granting her craves to smoke that meth bowl.

The years flashed by so incredibly fast
memories were like a picture with no contrast

there were weeks upon weeks erased from her mind
how does one contemplate years of lost time?

thoughts of guilt consumed her head
the shame’s all to real after your done being sped.

where had she been when she missed her family's christmas?
on the streets feeding her meth craving sickness.

regret was an emotion that danced the night away
while depression was watching and happiness had strayed

hope is a word that comes easy to many,
Hope to an addict as the rich are to pennies

introspection left her full of self-hate
deciding that suicide would be her best fate

As a 27 gauge dart made her and reality part
she became another statistic on fentanyl’s fatality chart.

She should have been told that her life was worth more; but instead everyday she got called a dope whore.

precise needle marks filled both of her wrists
these tell tale signs should have been addressed, not just dismissed.

When you see an addict on the street, don't turn your back and simply retreat.

To give someone hope is simplistic,
save them before they too become a statistic.