Gone are her ambitions,
she lost them along with the fifty pounds.
They just seemed to disappear overnight
like a deadbeat dad.
Gone and easily forgotten.
Washed away in bottles of Smirnoff Vodka
and cocaine in her veins.
Morals seem to fly right out the window,
when it comes down to that last bump,
that last chance of a high,
that last ounce of self-respect
flying out with them.

If you could only see her alone (or sober) ,
then you just might catch a glimpse
of her desperation to succeed,
but the chances of such a happening
are becoming slimmer
with every dream that she sells
and at merely 17, she's not likely to
make it to 23.

Amanda Lukas

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-sale-hopes-dreams-and-aspirations/