I used to try helping kids like this until one of my own became 'one of them.' She learned the wrong lesson from them and found 'glamour' in their freedom.

Money disappears in the sewer
Murder on the bank accounts . . . a blur
Needles dirtied daily . . . but who counts?
I need dollars in growing amounts
Need a quick fix
Quaking hands stretch to grasp falling coins
Sit in a river . . . from my loins
Still an unruly teen who picks fights
Now I clamor in filth through the night
What is this mix?
Who cares? It is another quick high!
It’s just another day to get by
Prematurely I am aged, dying
Listen to the silence . . . no crying
Just human waste
Am I invisible to the eye?
See the people passing right on by?
My body is home to germs and lice
I am filthy . . . don’t talk very nice
Shoot me with mace
More than your dollars, I need a hand
Compassion . . . someone to understand
Someone once rocked me in loving arms
I was wet, soiled, yet I had charms
Now I’m alone
Where’s someone to believe in me . . .
Put me on the right track; set me free . . .
Give me food, tuck me warmly in bed?
Someone to listen to what I’ve said.
Pick up the phone
. . . .“Ma?”