- Erotic Poetry
- Face Fuck Book #138—Agnes H
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Face Fuck Book #138—Agnes H
You won't find her on FB
Or any other site you see
If life had run its predicted course
One less soul would have been lost
Agnes H, once had her chance
Scholarship won, modern dance
Lasted only a quarter at school
Meth was her demon
played her for a fool
Easy for me, never addicted
But her vice is not easily quitted
We fought for her, some friends indeed
She used to run down Hill Street with speed
Not so far gone that you can't glean
The pretty face just past her teens
Bart and Ally made the pitch
Took her home with them a bit
Bought her cloths and took her daily
To their office, she went gaily
I saw her then and didn't recognize
But she knew me and winked her eye
Six month later, back on the street
I guess the meth could be not beat
The pushers dragged her back to hell?
It's an easy trip, then down the well
It's been fifteen years you'd hardly know
Her face has been the first to go
The teeth are gone still much the shape
The wide cheeks bones, she has the shakes
Her skin is shrunken, wrinkled
Red sores where once her smile twinkled
I saw her once the other way
Like any office workers day
She's been in a wheelchair
Since God knows when
I try to think of her back then
When she had a chance well found
Life looked like it was turning round
I don't know where she sleeps
Or who wheels her there
Not one of us can really care
I don't give her money because I know
She'll buy more meth and go
Smoke and sleep in some dark corner
A miracle she's not a goner
Still on the street, she's very thin
Hardly eats, a sad has-been
But when she puffs on that glass pipe
The world is blue the clouds are light
The scabs that fill her brow and cheeks
Are jewelry for her to keep
I offer food, but she's not hungry
All she wants is a little money
I imagine she'll blow you for 5 dollars
God knows what disease would follow
Some people out there can be saved
Others just get mad and rave
Threatening each passer by
Till the cops get an eye
And strip 'em down and check their stuff
They've usually hid a stash to puff
But what can one say for these street people
When God looks down from some high steeple
And they look back and see nothing there
Then look at us with that a vacant stare
- COMMENTS
todski28over 10 years agoOf these type of people half of them family. Also working on the emergency response and restraint team in a psychiatric ward for 9 months you see the aftermath on everyone involved the famlies, the friends.
Although you painted her picture so well I can supplant her face with at least 6 people I know personally. such a sad yet all too common story. Thank you for sharing
Angelineover 10 years agoand those last lines about the church take a well-aimed punch that hits the reader just when you have them at their most emotional. You knew you were doing that, right? A few lines are a bit iffy, which is a function imo of using rhyme. It's hard to find a perfect fit every time. On the other hand, I give extra points to any poem that explores human nature so honestly. But that's me. :-)
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