Living on the outskirts of town,
She is disheveled, worn,
Like the buildings surrounding her.
She is forgotten.
Look closely, peer into her eyes to see
She might have been beautiful, once.
Inside she is rotting
Falling in upon herself
As she struggles to recall
Her salad days.
He lives for Sundays sitting on the battered sofa
Outside his small home, watching
As others live their lives, unnoticing.
He is forgotten.
Look closely, peer into his eyes to see
He might have been proud, once.
He takes an odd job now and then
To add to his meager cupboard.
He lives invisibly
Fading a little more each day.
She is only fourteen
He is only twelve.
They have chosen escape
From one prison to another.
Look closely, peer into their eyes to see
They might have been children, once.
Their marzipan faces smile
Their moves are seductive.
Inside they, too, are rotting
And fading a little more each day.
The needle is her only friend.
She has discarded all the others.
The highs are long gone
She only exists to maintain.
Look closely, peer into her eyes to see
She might have been a dancer, once.
Twirling, spinning, floating on air.
Heroin is her dance partner now
Dropping her into the abyss of self-destruction.
She longs for release.
The tiny infant screams
As he pulls in his first inhalation.
He struggles and kicks
Seeking the warmth of his mother.
Look closely, peer into his eyes to see
He offers hope, a resurrection.
The possibilities are limitless
His choices are legion.
He will survive, make a difference
He will dance the dance of life.
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