When I first moved to this city
I made friends with a junky-
we were both lonely.
Sitting on the steps with nothing
to do to pass the time,
but talk of the central library.
Looking up books
on how to make flutes.
I helped him score drugs,
by being the one who turned in
stolen jewelery to Nordstroms.
I watched him check out at
the water front-
he bought me pizza,
sang me a song
at open mic.
I was friends with meth addicts.
Lost friends in car accidents.
Lost my virginity in a haunted house
on an Indian Reservation.
And a few weeks ago,
I burned those journals.
I watched smoke erase memories,
in seconds.
Poems I thought I would put somewhere,
someday.
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