Guilty as the Next

 

Junkies and pinheads,

roving the dirty, urine soaked

hallways of a shuttered

apartment buildings,

shouting and demanding

their needs be met.

 

Stealing and grifting

their way through the

night, to support their

habits, their lifestyle,

their unintended

consequences.

 

A policy of plague,

unleashed by other

policies of ignorance,

from policies of condemnation,

exclusion and inequity.

Shaking an empty cup,

looking for change.  

 

It’s very hard to care

for a society that doesn’t

care about itself.

Like an addict, bent on

self-destruction, regardless

of the help offered.

 

Another rung on the ladder

of society, needles still

sticking from dirty arms,

stepped on, in the climb

to be superior,

rather than be better.

 

I’m guilty as the next addict,

hooked on my comforts,

anxious without them,

irate when crossed-examined

about them. I offer nothing.

I leave a mess.

 

I am,

the junkie,

the pinhead,

and I am tired.

With needs to be met.