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.