An Addict's City

Streetlights point the way;
But oblivious,
I speak the language of hidden meanings.
Instead of clear-cut signs and green arrows,
I survive by noticing the discreet.
I draw my life, my very strength,
From the color of a bandana
Feigning innocence peeking out of your back pocket.
I resuscitate hope from the tilt of your hat,
Falsely aloof on a faceless body.
Instead of billboards promoting local businesses,
I sense what’s in your pocket,
In your bag,
Even under your skin.
Instead of highlighting a new street pattern,
I know if you’re dry,
Or what you’re pushing.
Instead of glancing at interstate signs at face value,
I see which section of town is supplying which lifeblood today.

What do I need?
One day it’ll be a black bandana,
An acknowledging hat,
A highway north.
Another day, or maybe even the same,
It’ll be a blood-red bandana,
A backwards tilt,
A maze of interstates.

I can’t pay attention to the normal sights of this map anymore,
Subconsciously I’m always looking;
Always searching.
Searching for what?
Thinking, sober, this makes no sense.
I’ll never be a normal girl in this city;
On this map.
I am an addict.
Not even a worthy symbol on this map legend.
We’re a different breed;
We deserve a whole new city.