Her(oin)
c'est la vie
She is a child. Her hay-bale hair falls sweetly on her shoulders and she holds an old porcelain doll in the crook of her arm as she wanders the street. The world is a beautiful place and she loves the yellow bathtub in her little blue house. She believes there's is a God and she can only fall asleep when her dad sings her lullabies. She's got two handfuls of opportunities waiting for her in the next few years, some of them good and some of them not. She is clean and harmless and cute. She is loved by everyone who lays eyes on her, but she can't wait to grow up.
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She is a teenager. Her long sunlight hair is made up of timeless knots and bows, she hasn't brushed it in three weeks and she isn't about to start. Her legs are long and she isn't so gangly anymore and the world isn't so pretty these days. She doesn't have time for dolls anymore and instead spends her time getting high in the back of movie theatres. She's stumbling down what some would call 'the wrong path'. Her mom's still as dead as she was twelve years ago and her dad thinks she's nothing but a filthy-mouthed fuck up, his love for her left the moment his sanity did. She is impure and sad and seemingly all alone. She is judged by everyone who lays eyes on her. She misses the innocence she had as a child -the innoncence she can't get back no matter what she does.
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She is an adult. Her lemon-juice hair is stringy and sits lifelessly on her head. Her body is a twig and her cheeks are two gaping wholes on her face and she isn't so pretty these days. She now prefers heroin and crystal meth to cigarettes and weed. She hasn't owned a doll in years and she's now a prostitute, working whenever she can. She can barely afford her filthy one-bedroom apartment but she stays there because it has a little yellow bathtub that reminds her of when she was a child. Her father is now just as dead as her mother but she doesn't think about either of them much anymore. She doesn't speak unless she's spoken to and she doesn't smile very often. She is diseased and hollow and near-death. She receives looks of distaste from everyone who lays eyes on her. She doesn't feel much and she likes it that way.
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She is a teenager. Her long sunlight hair is made up of timeless knots and bows, she hasn't brushed it in three weeks and she isn't about to start. Her legs are long and she isn't so gangly anymore and the world isn't so pretty these days. She doesn't have time for dolls anymore and instead spends her time getting high in the back of movie theatres. She's stumbling down what some would call 'the wrong path'. Her mom's still as dead as she was twelve years ago and her dad thinks she's nothing but a filthy-mouthed fuck up, his love for her left the moment his sanity did. She is impure and sad and seemingly all alone. She is judged by everyone who lays eyes on her. She misses the innocence she had as a child -the innoncence she can't get back no matter what she does.
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She is an adult. Her lemon-juice hair is stringy and sits lifelessly on her head. Her body is a twig and her cheeks are two gaping wholes on her face and she isn't so pretty these days. She now prefers heroin and crystal meth to cigarettes and weed. She hasn't owned a doll in years and she's now a prostitute, working whenever she can. She can barely afford her filthy one-bedroom apartment but she stays there because it has a little yellow bathtub that reminds her of when she was a child. Her father is now just as dead as her mother but she doesn't think about either of them much anymore. She doesn't speak unless she's spoken to and she doesn't smile very often. She is diseased and hollow and near-death. She receives looks of distaste from everyone who lays eyes on her. She doesn't feel much and she likes it that way.
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The last paragraph is the worst in my opinion.Your thoughts?