Not Just A Statistic

There was once a woman
Who had so much damn potential
Let's say her name was Stacey
To keep this confidential

She was young and beautiful
As smart as a profeser
She had demons in her closet
But wasn't thought as lesser

Loyalty to blood was a given
Even though her dad gave her beatings
She never let it get to her
She always expressed her feelings

Her living revolved around a pole
Dollar bills were always thrown
Always taken advantage of
Her pregnancy never shown

One day Her demons
Made her start fiending
She put them in her blood
Stacey's body started leaning

Her demons reached her heart
Now she lay dead on her apartment floor
Her boyfriend crying and waiting
Till the paramedics pronounce her nevermore.

Rest in peace "Stacey". I didn't know you for very long in life but when I did you had a light in your eyes. Like everything was going to be alright. Unfortunately the world will remember you as a number. But everybody has to remember that each one of those numbers had a story, and potential. I know you and your unborn child are looking down at everybody from eternal paradise. Rest in peace.