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.