9 May 2012
Woman in a track suit with spittle around her lips,
Eyes darting frantically left to right,
Tugging at the wrist of a sunken eyed man,
Disappear down an alley,
Return an hour later, barely able to walk.
Evening drops the sun from the sky,
Now you see them gather on the corner,
The hordes of junkies, looking to feed,
Hoping for a few euros toward a bag.
Pungent red shit to drain their worries and lives away.
Everyone has their own demons, I never judge a human,
Or try my best, but it's hard not to,
When I meet you in the morning and you admonish me,
Late for work, you say that I'm too busy to help you out,
Really I just know I can't, the smack has got you.
The Walk To Work • Opuss № I