What has become of that happy girl,
smiling at life.
She is so pale and looks tired,
the needle her only friend.
The drugs running trough her veins,
a poison numbing her brain.
No more feelings,
as the sweet heroine intoxicates the junk.
It’s the path to a slow suicide by overdose.
Poetry and flashfiction 
Well, if she was a happy girl in the first place, she’s not going to be getting into the junk tho, so no doubt the ‘narrator voice’ missed the signs… and never knew her at all.
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Well first you be happy, then you get bad friends, start experimenting and get addicted. It happens.
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Naw. Why do you get “bad” friends if you’re happy? Something else is going on. People don’t just do heroine. Needles are heavy. There’s a choice to not care, in the first place. That was never happy. That wants to escape.
But hey! Thanks for allowing my preachy comments. And for your thought provoking post.
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