She arrived at the hospital, staggering boldly,
But under her own steam.
The receptionist eyed her cautiously,
The vomit down her t-shirt still tacky and wet.
I need help, she said, slumping down.
I’m sorry, she cried. I’m just a drain on the system,
A drain on the world.
The waiting room stopped and stared
At her figure so broken, pathetically heaped
Into a plastic chair, crying into hands
Chapped and bleeding with years of abuse.
Nobody seems to care that her story is sad
But the nurses will be a friend and a therapist,
Coaxing her into a bed, and taking the time to understand.
They are the angels that never will judge.
They know too well that she isn’t a drain on a system so broken,
She just needs a hand, that is friendly and helping.
It’s the system that’s drained this poor girl.