Yesterday. Oh man.
Words meant something.
I heard heroin,
I heard I’m here for you.
He didn’t know her,
But paid for her food
As she wrestled with
Demons.
Sat and offered something…
Hope? Maybe.
Comfort? Surely.
All I could offer
Were tears,
And those I cried
At home.
Peace, people.
A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism.
Doing the best I can with what I have
kind of sad, but not so bad with cheese. cheese not provided.
My streams of thought meet here
Photographer based in Stockholm, Sweden
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Killer Fiction
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Besteesydian
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Life in a flash - a bi-weekly storytelling blog
MARK PETRUSKA | WRITER
Short essays about novels and other fictional works
By Ian Garrabrant
Home of Micropoetry, Literature, art and philosophy.
Just a fiction writer, trying to reach the world.
Praying for Eyebrowz 
So caring
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He isn’t much more than a boy and yet knew how to speak to this woman.
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Well.. you offered this too my friend. Awareness.
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I’m worthless in some situations. Completely worthless. But maybe bearing witness does some good.
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Of course it does. Abso. Don’t think for a moment that it doesn’t. Look here right now, you are discouraged from using cash so the homeless and folks with addictions have been hammered. Oh yeah there were hotel rooms offered but come on. That is not how people in these straits live. The Mr and I ‘know ‘ a lot of these folks cos they have regular pitches and the most we’ve been able to do for the past two years is buy them that coffee, and something to eat. So many don’t see them at all, so actually don’t think you’ve done nothing. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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Reblogged this on Disablities & Mental Health Issues.
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Ugh, sad. And that picture… gives me chills.
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