touch my face and feel my gut it's knotted up, punctured and twisted with knives of lovers lost look at me with shame and forget me no longer call me by my name, brother i'm barren from the child i chose not to let be yet still swollen from the emptiness stepping on nails, sharp as i pace back and forth tattered soles and tattered souls can't overcome the obstacle without proper shoes end my suffering with a needle or two let ooze the regretful sorrow that feeds on my sanity drain the abscess that is my conscience my conscious mind it throbs beneath my skin and whispers secrets from hell, ear to ear on sunny days tiny voices and threatening reminders of crimes not yet repented committed in fear of solitude ways to escape unknown, unwanted negligent to what could be because the what is distracts me traps me i must first love myself to be loved by you everyday is a chance to recreate we know that our limbs grow longer ingesting opportunity but hear me when i shout to you from the asphalt the world unwillingly grows smaller and smaller and chances are slimmer, slander ensures luck be eradicated because pieces of us have been amputated
In reflection of my observational experience with the community of addicted individuals living on the streets of downtown Vancouver, I attempted to put myself in the shoes of the less-privileged to help me understand the cyclical, inescapable lifestyle so many struggle with everyday in our country.