Almost nocturnal in activity, they'd wake for a time in the night
By hiding in the darkness, finding safety in cover of the alleys
Dealers did deliver, knowing who lived behind the dumpsters
The alleys were home to children of broken lives and apathy
Most were slowly committing suicide, for oblivion's touch
It seemed they were invisible to most people, untouchable
Addicts identified themselves with no worth, only pain
Violent gangs had gone upon attacks upon the addicts
Abandoned by families, hated by haters of the weak
Addicts were lost in the foul muck of the abyss
They didn't need to die to taste Oblivion
In ways, they were already there
Insensate, lifeless, abandoned
“Whether you sniff it, smoke it, eat it or shove it up your ass
the result is the same: addiction.” William s. Burroughs
