The Sufferer

She sits in chair while people stare,

Her body thin and weak.

She cannot stand, control her hand,

She slurs when trying to speak.

A passing stranger gives a look,

As if to say, ‘You’re drunk!’

A common thing, to look at her,

And think ‘how low she’s sunk!’

If only they knew half the truth,

Perhaps their scorn would stop.

Her genes the blame for all her shame,

She hasn’t touched a drop.

And yet the filthy looks go on,

And ignorance is rife.

She knows that things will get worse still,

She knows this is her life