History, Thankfully

This is a sad poem, but at the time i wrote it about a friend and what she was going through, or at least what i could understand of it. Oh, she's okay now by the way.

Fate

She keeps doing it,

Red lines up her arm,

And I can’t stop her,

I try until my voice leaves

But it’s no use.

She has her own fate

One I can’t seem to change

With a boyfriend that ignores and abuses

And a miracle that seems to evade her

And bad friends

And bad grades

And bad lives

She doesn’t listen

So tonight, I wonder,

What’s gonna happen?

Is there any chance of stopping her?

Or is it too late?