High

A group of children, none older than 18, sit together
Acquaintances from school, work, and the streets lit by lamps and patrolled by the marked cars of the dedicated police whom protect them
They met in a room
In a basement
In an apartment downtown
Six of them, and between them all 50 hits of ecstasy, promising only joy for them
And they told stories from there lives, as the pile of pills diminished with time
And by morning they knew each other
In a way that seemed to come from a movie they were one
And as long as they had those pills to keep them together that's how it stayed

They lost their jobs
Their friends
Their homes
Their educations
And fell apart

Now they are strangers
They don't nod on the street
And they don't have a medium to which they all relate
Their connection was a pile of pills
And when they were gone
The sun was up
And they parted ways
♠ ♠ ♠
This is based on a situation I went through a number of years ago, I was 16(?) at the time, and learning about what addiction was in my own right. Since then I'm far along the road of sobriety, and those people from that night are gone, and I've grown past the point of wondering where. We all have a story to tell about that night, and the nights which ensued from it, but now we all have moved on, and put it behind us in an effort to live independently.