"You were once my friend. Now I know I can't tie your hands." She scratched onto the notebook paper. Things had been so great when she started. Ok, ok, not great. Not great at all. That simply wasn't the correct word. "Easy" was much more fitting. When she first started walking the streets at night, things were easier. She was young, she was beautiful, they paid well, and they didn't beat her ass. But now things we're different. She was in her 40's. Crow's feet appeared in the places around her eyes she used to decorate with cheap glitter when she smiled. Now she found so little work that writing took up her time more often than not. Another sigh.
"Scenes of my life seem so unkind. Time chasing time creeps up behind." She continued. The beatings, the rapes, the stolen money she'd sold her soul for. The way they all looked at her. The phone calls where Mama would make excuses to hang up. No one wanted anyone knowing they had a prostitute for a daughter or sister. Not even an old ex prostitute. But Mama had cleaned up her life, gotten off of drugs, Martha thought. But she, "Diamond" had not. Diamond is dead. In her place is Rust.
"The days I saved I couldn't spend. They fell like sand through the hourglass
No time to lose, no time to choose." She wrote. "I never even got a day off," she mumbled. Never ever got the chance to pretend she wasn't some whore. How bad she had wanted to take the bus up town to see Mama. To say she was sorry for everything. But time had crept up, and soon Mama's time had run out. "Don't even bother coming to the funeral." Martha's sister had waved a finger in her face as she said it. It choked her up just to think about it. God, why? How I could I fall so far, so far away from every I held dear? She pondered it a moment. Then returned to writing.
"An enemy I can't defend. My final place a deadly end. Life's just a speck in space. Dreams of an eternal resting place." The thoughts often came to her at night. That it would be nice to die. No more shooting up, no more cutting where no one would see, if they cared at all. No more crying. No more arguing inside myself, do I do it, or do I just keep on trying. She didn't know anymore. "I can't get any younger. Time has brutal hunger ." She cried aloud as she wrote it down. Then she shuttered, hoping that the other women, the ones who were still young, pretty, and hungry and got all the men, that those women would not hear her.
"Father time, I'm running late." She said to herself with disgust. She just had to get this short little nap in before it was time to try and get some work for the night. I just have a little bit more to get now, she thought. "I can't run forever, and time waits for no one. Not even me." She concluded. She shot up one more time and laid down for a while, just a while, she thought. And I'll try harder tonight. But this was the last time. And the other women would remember her by the 149th page, and the words that would haunt