The End of Innosense

She sat homeless at a crossroads.
Staring at those who passed her by.
She was lost easily.
She was lost in hasty decision, in curiosity, in carelessness and
under pressure.
She was treasured by few, rejected by most.
And she learnt to live in solitude.

She had been breathed out amongst the smoke of a first cigarette.
She had been puked out of some who drank for the first time.
She had been strangled by the words of a compulsive liar.
She had been whisked away with the loot of an amateur thief.
She was a blurry memory for those who got high often.
She was forgotten in a dimly lit room. And she watched hiding, from a
corner.
She had been auctioned by a future gambler, and sold to a dealer,
penetrated by lust, murdered by mistake and injected with narcotics.

She had been molested enough to have grown a grim, numb face.

She seldom poked at the conscience of those who had disowned her.
She seldom tried to regather those who’d strayed away.
All she did was live in bleak hope.

And one day, after having been burried under the chugging, downing,
smoking, illicit touching, stealing, lying and denying
enough, she gave up.

Still sitting at the crossroads, she lit a cigarette, looked into the distance and
sighed out a cloud of smoke at hope.