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Old Town

by Neil Heddings 5 years ago in sad poetry / social commentary
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Disease or Habit?

I know that junkee

Standing on the corner.

He lives over by the

Freeway overpass

In a box

Under the bridge

Where I was this morning.

Stopped by to smoke his speed

Before I crossed over that bridge.

To see this homeless one

Friend of mine.

He kicks it at the big concrete bank.

He gave me some clean rigs,

So I cruised over to the trolley.

Station at Morena st.

To use the pay phone there.

Punch in the # for the man

At the Eazy 8.

The one holding the black.

He told me to cruz back over that bridge.

To the river bed where

I met him there on the bike path.

Traded him up

My $ in exchange.

Thought of my homeless one

Friend who gave me the rigs.

He's got the speed too.

So

Back to the bank I go.

To trade him my black

I gave him up 1/2

For some of his speed...

Cuz that's just how i do it.

Now finally

It's just time to leave.

Back past the fone

Over the bridge again

Sneak past the freeway pad

Down to the path.

The one that runs along the river bed

And eventually

I'll reach the sewer drain.

The one that marks my own little path.

Into the river bed

Where my tent hides

Under a camouflage netting

In the bushes

Under the branches and the leaves

Of a big, old tree.

This tent is my home.

I live here with my roommates

Cotton and The Spoon who

Just stay here and wait it out.

They wait here for me

To bring them

My dope and my rigs.

I like to hide here

Where no one knows...

I like to shoot up here

Alone...

Where I don't have to share.

Not just my dope.

No one’s getting my shot anyways,

No one but me.

It's just...

I don't wanna have to share

All this much misery.

And I'll still

Always hide it all

Every time

I Leave.

END

sad poetrysocial commentary

About the author

Neil Heddings

Star I write so I can learn to live with who I am without destroying myself as punishment. Learn to love yourself if you ever hope to love at all.

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