They found it.
All of it.
Besides being raped by five different men,
they found the drugs.
The heroin, the meth, the weed, the alcohol.
Shit, everything was blown up.
Blown completely out of proportion.
Ronnie had a bright idea though.
Tell them that the guys who raped me, made me do it.
Oh, and it worked.
It worked so good,
just one big, sappy story
full of huge fucking tears.
They took sympathy to me,
kept me there for three whole fucking days.
That was without my monster.
But I was sweating out my high,
and I needed it bad.
My mother never came.
She had some piss-poor excuse that the doctors believed.
Fuck it.
Fuck them.
All I need now is my monster.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking;
Getting all cranked up on that shit ain't too good for you--
Ask me if I fucking care.
Because if you walked into the party,
there is no leaving the scene.
YOU ARE READING
My Monster
PoetryHer name was Skylar. And she was addicted. Her substance: Meth/Crank/Glass... whatever you call it, it still screws you up in more ways than one. But after seventeen years of trying to be Ms.Perfect in an unstable family, is this really what she wan...
