Damage Done

shards of glass
in my eyes
watermelon
molding in my throat
empty soul
spine wracked
with arthritis
fat, swollen, red hands
belie the addict
regret the past?
only since the relapse
three years ago
can't forget
wish I could.
Wish "they" would.
The 30 year old false teeth
that cut through my lips
copper-tasting blood
with every bite
the disease that took
the "original equipment"
from heroin shot under the tongue
for twenty years
wrist-scarred
back-scarred with circle marks
'miss' scars on feet, arms and legs
battle scars
from women's prisons
and indignant street urchins
just like me
Bar stools through Seeburgs
because someone thought
"purple rain" was great
not me. not after the 12th time.
Lying on sidewalks
hanging onto street posts
to keep from 'fishing'
waking/coming to under fluorescent lights
again
nurses "tsk tsk'g"
doctors looking down their noses
am I the only one who sees
the hint of powder on them noses?
the patronizing
cauterizing words
"you keep this up, you'll die"
trying to tell them
it's been my attempt all along
but can't speak
Drano burned vocal chords
Likely will never sing again, either
but never could before
and laugh
and the blood
and the drugs
and the concrete
and the glass
and the abandoned buildings
and the running hydrant water
remind me
of what I can't do anymore
what I choose not to do anymore
not because I'm too old
but because I'm too exhausted
and I can't run carrying tv's anymore
or VCR's
and Neil Young's words echo
painfully in my ears
damage done.

Kathy S.