I wish you all the best in your endeavours.
May it all fall in your lap
With minimal effort,
And desired results.
May you sleep sound with a clear conscience.
Undisturbed, at peace with your past.
May your trauma be slight and easily managed, making your life exciting and full of love.
I wish you this, as I battle against icy winds, adorned in old blankets, weeks unwashed.
Addictions unbreakable as the ignorance is bliss, social interactions often threatening and violent, lips blistered and skin weathered, all my belonging together in a shopping cart I stole last week. A hot meal is just a dream, but when achieved, is enjoyed in the shadows of the city, often eaten with my buckled, white knuckle hands. I don't ask for money anymore, as the colour has drained from my eyes and hair, and the strangers don't care, they are always in a rush somewhere, with everything but nothing to spare. When I die, noone will be notified, noone will cry, I will be simply a gross memory for a medic, having to drag my corpse from wherever I am, reeking of misery, loneliness and feces.
I wish you all the best.