no one takes any notice of me,
if I speak my truth
it’s just a junkie garbling
nonsense
a disease carrying scum
chasing tracks
another fuckin’ wino, soiling
his pants,
watching clouds
roll by
hear what I’m saying
cos you could be me
like I was you
before a couple of wrong turns,
barely a misstep
at first it happens slowly
then you watch it all slide
doors locked
faces turned away
you claw and beg
for second chances
your fingers are too cold
and loathe
to seize
it’s not enough to choose
a different path
you’ve gotta be a little lucky too
or at least,
not so unlucky
but now you’ve all sloped off home
back to warm rooms and food
and you weren’t really listening anyhow
cos it’s just a junkie talking
you smug faced bastards
you could be me
