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Too Late

She smokes with her “friends” behind a tree before class
They all start making their way towards the roadway
She blows out smoke and watches it whisper away in the wind.
She takes one last swig to get through her day.
Her expensive jeans and skin tight blouse can’t veil what she is desperately trying to bury.
Her once loving parents are tired of her cliché.
No one knows what it’s like to be her, sometimes she even questions
But all her doubt and fear are concealed as she sticks another butt on the ashtray
She’s tired of what she feels so she drowns it in consumption
Swimming in her father’s stash, hiding in the hallway
Somewhere inside her a voice lingers
But no one can awake her from the stupor




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