poor souls everywhere you go
down bleak and windy high streets,
you see them.
pale faces and thin bodies
looking for the next fix.
while their tattood arms of stars and names
hide deeper needle marks;
deeper scars.
poor souls, huddled in bus shelters and corners.
skin and bone
pulling on a cigarette,drawing deep
to ease the moment.
totally oblivious
of their oblivion. |
