Oct 2010
See him on the street,
in his ragged garb,
His state of hygene.
suggesting life is hard.
He screams abuse,
at no one you can see,
he hears voices inside him,
from which he can never flee.
Looking lost and lonely,
cast out into despair.
watch as they ignore him,
as if he wasn't there.
See him shuffle off,
down some shabby lane,
hunted by those voices,
sending him insane.
Where is our humanity,
we treat him like a ***,
this mentally ill man,
who is someone else's son.
(c) 10th May 2010
in his ragged garb,
His state of hygene.
suggesting life is hard.
He screams abuse,
at no one you can see,
he hears voices inside him,
from which he can never flee.
Looking lost and lonely,
cast out into despair.
watch as they ignore him,
as if he wasn't there.
See him shuffle off,
down some shabby lane,
hunted by those voices,
sending him insane.
Where is our humanity,
we treat him like a ***,
this mentally ill man,
who is someone else's son.
(c) 10th May 2010
Today I spoke to a mother whose mentally ill daughter killed herself.
Today I walked around Sydneys streets and laneways amongst more than a hundred mentally ill men and women living on those streets and in those laneways or in shelters for the homeless.
As a writer I believe it is my responsibility to put myself in situations where I can observe real life and to write down my observations. These are my observations.
Today I walked around Sydneys streets and laneways amongst more than a hundred mentally ill men and women living on those streets and in those laneways or in shelters for the homeless.
As a writer I believe it is my responsibility to put myself in situations where I can observe real life and to write down my observations. These are my observations.
