Addicted.

the addict knows not
how addicted they are.

The girl with the sad eyes,
and the empty stomach,
and the stories to tell.

The boy with the bruises,
and the marks that tell
the story for him.

The mom,
who never wanted to be a mom,
that leaves her baby on a park bench
and walks off to go smoke a blunt
as the tears slide down her cheeks.

We are all addicted to something.

And these "drugs" only lead down a path
covered in black thorns
and angry voices.

I try to stay away,
but the nagging thoughts keep bringing me back.

All i want is for him to see me ,
but he looks through me like a window.

Baby, I would do anything to get your attention.