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You don’t actually see them.
Not really see.
You see weakness.
Apathy.
Cowardice.
That’s what the fallen spell.
Glancing from your car.
Your hard won home.
Your two and a half kids,
That incarcerating white picket fence,
Of an idyllic family life.
Oh yes you have worked.
You’ve certainly got the right.
So you inflict a brand new cicatrix.
You bite them don’t you?
Cannibalize,
Grind their bones.
You are hyenas with a crown.
Kick em down.
Kick em real good.
Shove that dross towards the precipice,
To where they belong.
Interrupting your quest for success and avarice.
Painting their ugly on the streets.
How dare they?
They should hide.
You’d prefer them cold under stiff white sheets.
Coke ravaged noses.
Arms wasted.
Tubes – hollow – bare.
Ghouls.
Reminders.
Walking nightmares,
Day by day.
Imposing themselves into your night.
Shattered faces.
Spirits broken.
Turn your backs.
Keep doing it…
To that bottle in their hand,
A molotov.
Don’t look.
In case it blows,
Destroys your sophomoric hologram,
That you are impervious.
Better.
Immune somehow.
Righteous.
Your ego a defiant sandcastle,
Facing an incoming wave.
Teachers.
Sons.
Daughters.
Lives.
One of these might be yours.
Perhaps even you.
Pennies that fall unaccounted for,
Between the grimy metal gaps and grates.
To the gunge and shit below.
The excreta that society produces and allows.
Because to their destiny it is not apropos.
It’s your boogey man.
Lurking.
The IT in the shadows.
A dubious clown.
So distance yourself.
And then distance some more.
Go on.
Betray their trust and praise yourself.
‘There is something wrong with you.’
‘Sort yourself out.’
You imprison by this alone.
‘This would never happen to me.’
‘I’m better than that.’
‘These people are just fucked up.’
‘They’re bad.’
‘Mad.’
‘Diseased.’
‘Lost.’
Reusing an old needle to shoot a vein?
‘What a way to live.’
‘What a shame.’
Yeah.
Indeed.
Rape is a shame.
Losing loved ones is a shame.
Poverty too.
Abuse.
Difficult childhoods.
Neglect.
Deprivation.
Illness.
Unless it’s your story.
Then it’s more.
Oh yes.
Infinitely so.
Ever wonder addiction makes you scared.
So scared you become haughty.
You know it all.
These ‘people’ should just stop.
Slam the brakes.
Fools.
How pathetic they can’t.
Then help.
No?
Thought not.
This ocean in which we all swim is huge.
It’s your stalker, carer and creator.
Do you know that?
Tides unpredictable.
A vast unknown.
Anyone of us can be that oyster,
Lying on that sea bed.
Oblivious.
Expecting life to be kind.
Only to be found by that stray grain of sand.
Wheedling it’s way inside your shell.
Irritating you year upon year,
Leaving us unable to help ourselves.
So we ignore.
Until it becomes too big.
Finally choking you.
Leaving no room for anything else.
That torment becoming a treasure for others,
To wear about their necks,
Your misery a cause for gloating.
Self congratulation this destiny cannot be theirs.
Because they’re better.
Only it’s not true.
If you’re breathing,
You’re fair game.
Addiction DOES not play fair.
But we should.
Dedicated to Aileen Wournos 1956- 2002
For information on where to get support for yourself or someone else, click on the link below.
https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/guides-to-support-and-services/addiction-and-dependency/addiction-and-dependency-resources/
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