A Game Still? * Poem by Mrs. Cynosure

People can study the suffering of a meth addict or,
The teen that is hooked on crack,
We can know of what is going through the rape victims mind,
What it feels like to live inside your friendless drunken bottle,
We are taught this in school.
We’ve made excuses for these people so many times,
It’s like what they do in their life is no longer a crime,

Mother of three, gang raped, and left for dead,
Her sprit cries for the remains, because nobody cares.
A teen just did a little bit too much, but as he forever sleeps,
No one will know.
The girl who didn’t want it but he took it anyway,
And now she even has nightmares in the day.
Even the drunk that shot herself,
When the bottle got the best of her.

But what about the sex addicts?
The ones that lay in their bed and,
Cry them selves to sleep,
Call them selves’ names,
Needing to have it more and more,
Each and every day,
The pain they pay,
Because of the need.

Do you think this is a game?
Doubt that I am suffering?
Why don’t you see that I need help?
Just like a druggie or the drunk,
Or the girl sitting next to you,
Just wanting you to hide,
I need your shoulder to lean on.

This addiction I have become to hate,
At first I was like you and thought I was just,
A horny teen having a little fun,
Now I can't sleep at night and,
It controls my relationships with guys,
I just want this to go away,
Do you still think this is a game?