My mother warned me about drugs. 
She said I wouldn’t want to end up like 
my brother: rotting 
teeth, rotting body, rotting away
in a cell. 

My mother warned me about 
‘fair weather friends’; the ones that
only stick around when life is good: 
they’d get their nails
done at the salon with you, then 
stab you in the back with them 
the week after. 

But my mother never warned me about
the people who stick
with you through everything:
the ones you get addicted to,
the ones you think you need to keep
you alive when all you want to do is
rip your skin off.

She never warned me that
they were drugs, too.

She never warned me about how
they’d suck
all the strength out of you.

She never told me that
eventually, you have to fight
alone.