I still see them with their faces
squashed into empty syringes
almost lifeless with less life to
live every day,

like a recurring nightmare
they're
always somewhere there,
in shop doorways, park
pathways,

she's
laid out for the undertaker,
no one can wake her,
he's clucking, no luck in
finding his dealer,

I steal away,
steer clear and try to forget
I was ever here