for you, my friends

For You, My Friends
I write for the homeless man
who sleeps on the park bench
A lazy bum most will assume
the man in the shelters
or alone with a rope and an empty bottle
in the regent hotel room
My thoughts written in blood The reader treats the words
like drugs he must consume
in a while he'll read his limit
had enoughdeath will reach him soon
So if you really
want to feel my words
you'll need a lighter, a needle, some water and a spoon

I write for the Harlot
who stands in a red mini
in the black night's rain
black bra, fish net stockings on the corner
no umbrella no coat
numb from heroin and cocaine
My pen trembles on the paper
tears hit, mark left
she'll raise her children different she says
she will break the chain
my heart aches
feeling her childhood pain

If you want to know what she feels
find a dealer, buy a hit
cook it, insert it, spike the vein
plunge
Insane? "Yeah" she says"but it's better than feeling the shame"

I write for the Dealer
Supporting his habit
supporting his children
full of lies
guilt ridden but still he's pushing our demise
the keyboard buttons slow
reflect to my pushing days
a pusher, not a dealer , i don't deny
to my own friends
wolf in sheep's disguise
If you want to escape living for a time
see this man, see his eyes blank, stone cold,that man is sly
couldn't care less
who lives ?who dies?
All it takes is one bad hit
one try, one buy.

I write for the mental patient
alone in a padded room
straight jacket
family had enough
said they tried
she swallowed pills
had to have her certified
I push the pen through the paper
while I write these words
knowing the girl would be ok
even though she could have died
she would be ok with the anti psychotic
Abilify
If you want to know how they feel stay up for weeks
shooting coke and speed until the voices begin to lie
still i cry
when another one of us listens to the voices
and commits suicide

i write for the addict
who tries desperately to get sober but keeps a
Hastings lean
methadone maintenance, detox , treatment, 12 step
smart recovery
and can't stay clean
I throw my pen across the room
spit in my notebook
wishing to intervene
but symbolically pick it back up
write a new scene
remembering the recovery process of of Martin and Charlie Sheen
If you want to see how we became addicted
start with the mean
abuse we suffered as children
and work up to the bullying as a teen
Plant medicine has us surviving, awakened spiritually
living serene

I write for the parents, spouses, siblings and children
of the hungry ghost
On whom they all too often depend
But who cannot grasp why
they do it
they are at wits end
I finish the email
I've written to a ghost back home
typed it up, spell check, press send
they've asked for money but its only compassion i can afford to lend
If you are the family that I write for, or maybe
you are just one of the few of the Ghost's "normy" friends
they will beg for currencystating you know nothing of how they feel
but still you must not bend
it is your integrity not your understanding
you need to defend
Take it from a clean junky
the relationship will mend itself
and there will not be a funeral to attend

But mostly I write for the rich
in the hopes my story and others seen through dead blue eyes
will open their eyes
awaken their mind
and bleed their heart
I finish writing another story reminding myself i am not changing the world
but at least its a start
maybe they will give that man change the next time they are coming out of the West Vancouver Walmart
If you want to give to the cause Purchase Downtown Eastside writng and art
more important: donate your time.
Most important: buy a meal
for the man you just passed while reading this that so-called "crazy"pushing a shopping cart

i write for all of you..... but above everyone i write for me
its my passion , my love, my spirit in words, it keeps me alive because
it's my therapy