Words from Alyssa

Day after day, this problematic teen I see,  His regular scent of smoke and liquor as he goes  by, I turn my head in disgust as everyone does,  His cold, emotionless eyes tells a story that can't be solved, The nostalgic past tormenting him  Torn hoodies trying to hide the bruises all over, Hot and suffocating he wants to be free, Around the corner in the back, The same hoodie that always repels, always alone with the burnt smell of cigar, And in the state of a drunk  Internally screaming but no one sees, Help me! Help me! is what I see  I want to save this boy  but my body cowers in fear, The way he dresses and speaks frightens me  His uncontrollable temper drives people away I watched him suffer and watched him cry  But all I could do was sit by I overlooked his pain all for my own gain I despised him because I was scared of him But when the day is done he goes home as silent as the grave Opens the door almost meeting his demise,  Ah, ...

I wake up. I have another headache today, this one is worse than yesterday. I took the pill and it still isn't easing up. For breakfast, I wonder if I should just get drunk and pass out again. Maybe that will take the pain away. Seems like the best option to me. I wake up. When was the last I had been outside, my room needs to air out, it smells awful. I can't bother to clean it today not feeling it. The ceiling is leaking again. I told that damn bastard to give me my money back if he wasn't going to fix it properly. Another typical day in the slums. I'm tired again. I should sleep a little more. I wake up. Ugh, I still have a headache. When is it going to leave? Hasn't it been too long already? Why am I checking my phone as if someone would even reach out to me? I see mother has been calling for days, I wonder if her money ran low again. Damn, she wouldn't be able to survive in this world without me. Guess that means I'll be going back to work. I really did...