Frizzy chestnut hair.
Forty years life experience,
But no wisdom.
She does not have enough will power to reverse her bad habit.
A dangerous obsession.
A life threatening addiction.
She fights to survive,
But risks her life
Every time she succumbs to the temptation
Of a happy-go-lucky state
That the drops of poison give her.
Still filling herself,
Her hands begin to tremble
And she obtains a red complexion.
Rivers run from innocent eyes.
The children prepare for their motherís tragic ending.
She has no chance.
Limited tomorrows remain.
No more Sunday soccer games,
Or trips to Brookfield Zoo.
No more bedtime stories
Filled with fairies and distant lands,
Or nighttime kisses,
Gentle on silky foreheads.
No more opportunities to teach
Naive children right from wrong.
Too bad the four youths couldnít learn by example.
Their mother was no mentor.
She will have no time to fix her mistakes.
The wound will remain open,
Bloody and deep.
If only there was a price on time.
You watch your kids
Hoping that they will be saved.
Untouched by the toxic substance that killed you.
Praying that they will stay pure of it till 21,
And that it wonít be an outlet for them
Like it was for you.