Stitched Backpack
He stumbled with his heart safety-pinned
His sleeves ragged and bloodied.
There’s no tunnel, no light
There’s the demons that hunt him in the night
He wanted a fix, wanted not needed
Maybe he needed but who gives a care?
The alley lined with scum
He looked like he might be slumming
Wrapped in a small cloth smaller than a blanket
He shivered and cried to the territorial fights.
Stench surrounding the oil galleon
The shrimps rubbed and slinked,
Not looking at the other
Hooded faces, hooded eyes, lowered voices
Shame disguised.
Wrenched from fitful dreams
Menacing bodies held him close
They screamed and grunted
He pleaded and pleaded
Who would listen?
Everyone else, all the scum and homeless,
Laid their heads to bed.
Woke up, blood more than ever
They avoided his accusations
His screams for righteousness ignored
Why not? They were not served, justice was taking a nap.
Packed up his one blanket-but-not-really,
Needed some money, needed a snack.
Needed more than wanted.
Begged on the streets, doe eyes and quivering lips.
Couldn’t stand, couldn’t sit; just braced for pain.
Needed to be tested, needed a heck more than wanted
But really, who gives a care?
Not that business suit, not that power dress, those flirty shoes?
Not a chance
Breakfast didn’t come, lunch was all but none
Dinner, don’t even ask.
Starving, lost and hurt, he lurched to a different spot.
Far away, far cooler, far more silent.
Sunken eyes could shed no more tears.
Pallid skin sickly, a map of veins.
The flavour of crystal meth lingered.
Cocaine was a heaven sent.
Tongue peeking out, tasting the air like it was the drugs itself.
Trampled on, squeezed against.
Life was tough baby, it still is.
Crawl back to me, torn and battered.
My doormat from green to red.
You push on me, of course I’ll take you back.
You’re my brother with the safety-pinned heart.
You’re my brother who’s addicted to drugs.
I’ll take you back, I’ll scrub you good.
One week maybe two, you’re out the door.
I just have to wait for a week more,
Before you come, leaning against my door.
His sleeves ragged and bloodied.
There’s no tunnel, no light
There’s the demons that hunt him in the night
He wanted a fix, wanted not needed
Maybe he needed but who gives a care?
The alley lined with scum
He looked like he might be slumming
Wrapped in a small cloth smaller than a blanket
He shivered and cried to the territorial fights.
Stench surrounding the oil galleon
The shrimps rubbed and slinked,
Not looking at the other
Hooded faces, hooded eyes, lowered voices
Shame disguised.
Wrenched from fitful dreams
Menacing bodies held him close
They screamed and grunted
He pleaded and pleaded
Who would listen?
Everyone else, all the scum and homeless,
Laid their heads to bed.
Woke up, blood more than ever
They avoided his accusations
His screams for righteousness ignored
Why not? They were not served, justice was taking a nap.
Packed up his one blanket-but-not-really,
Needed some money, needed a snack.
Needed more than wanted.
Begged on the streets, doe eyes and quivering lips.
Couldn’t stand, couldn’t sit; just braced for pain.
Needed to be tested, needed a heck more than wanted
But really, who gives a care?
Not that business suit, not that power dress, those flirty shoes?
Not a chance
Breakfast didn’t come, lunch was all but none
Dinner, don’t even ask.
Starving, lost and hurt, he lurched to a different spot.
Far away, far cooler, far more silent.
Sunken eyes could shed no more tears.
Pallid skin sickly, a map of veins.
The flavour of crystal meth lingered.
Cocaine was a heaven sent.
Tongue peeking out, tasting the air like it was the drugs itself.
Trampled on, squeezed against.
Life was tough baby, it still is.
Crawl back to me, torn and battered.
My doormat from green to red.
You push on me, of course I’ll take you back.
You’re my brother with the safety-pinned heart.
You’re my brother who’s addicted to drugs.
I’ll take you back, I’ll scrub you good.
One week maybe two, you’re out the door.
I just have to wait for a week more,
Before you come, leaning against my door.