Welcome to the crackhouse..

its residents are most inviting...

break bread, and make the sinners toast 

on a cracked out old mirror snowed 

in coke and ricin, raise ya rolled notes

with half dead blokes eulogising

- thoughts... 
and how to euthanize em.. so..
heres to the nose, 

and a vaguely hopeful notion of dying.

mate.. say it aint exciting...   

consumed by the doomy glow

of translucent smoke and broken lighting, 

the community chemist,
the nose off-liscese  

the devilish premises 
embedded an nestled in

amongst the brutally terraced tenements

tell the kids, skip the fairytales 
and you'll be passing on the heroin..
its where you'll find the cheap brass, 
in a slumberous state of malevolence, 
face the faintest shade and taint of anything
 she revels in place contained
in the shape of a sharp metal sting..
those that attend the den of pedalling
cease to see the beast in cess and sin..

lost souls with scabby arms play avatar 

the existentialist, self-saboteur  

bending spoons of morphine caviar..

a grubby brown, palace of fiend..
 canteen for those with a habit to feed

princesses strewn on saturated mattresses

never seem to struggle to sleep
its more of a peaceful panic

as they bubble and bleed...