She would sit alone at lunch,
Staring at her mother’s attempt to care,
Rice and stew that ends up in the trash.
She was the life of the party,
Popular parties where only
Rehab dropouts and psychos were invited.
Her nights were a circus of
Self-loathing and sleeping pills,
That comes alive in the dark.
Madness to her meant over-crowded,
the all too-familiar voices that
wouldn’t stop talking and arguing;