Twelve Steps She Never Took

  I saw her. Sitting on the corner of 5th and James. My eyes met hers and I saw her.....fully clothed, yet completely naked. Desolate and drained of any possible remaining piece of hope. They called her worthless....she believed it. Her body; brazen and bruised was broken in such a way that no man alone could have made her like this. Remnants of what used to be her bright blue eyes sparkle out of sunken in eye sockets, purple and black.
   She wring her hands in contemplation,"What a mine field!, is my mind, filled with thoughts of temporary release and hope that soon these thoughts will cease".  She sits on the sidewalk. I can see her body...contorted with anguish over what seems to be a hopeless struggle. Her muscles are rigid, as the intensity of her addiction sits heavily on her shoulders, her chest heaving and gasping for just one unrestricted breath. From her hollow eyes streams one continuous tear of numbness.
    I can see her, as hundreds of people have, all. day. long. She says nothing and I hear her screams. She makes no movement, I see her running, fleeing, flinching, under the weight of so many endless nights. She pulls away, but I see her reaching. Searching.
   How many times will we pass her. How many times will we say, "She's really screwed up." How many this, how many that . She could help herself if she wanted help, she wastes her money on drugs, she runs from things that law enforcement could take care of. But.....but.....also.....How many people will we kill before we realize....Our indifference towards her pain is just as bad as injecting the heroine for her. 
  And all the others like her will keep our arrogance in mind. We are the track marks on her arms. We are the bottle in his hands. We are the gashes across the wrists, the light to the crack pipe, the seal on the label, the needle, the gun.  We are....the twelve steps she never took. Thank yourself, for the help you never offered.