It's cold

and I have nowhere to go.
This photo reminds me of the photos they used to show us in newspapers and on television when they were trying to say: 'Look how poorly people are treated in other countries.' And they would show you a picture of somebody freezing on a pavement in New York, or somebody covered in snow in the centre of Moscow. Those were the winter images of course. In summer they would show us pictures of starving Africans, with their bloated bellies. But always showing them together with the subtext: this is how it is elsewhere, but you are lucky enough to live in our wonderful country where the state will take care of you, so there is no need to fear. Well guess what? This is a common sight here now.

I don't know

how they did it, but somehow they sent an email to the sun and out it came to play.

On a road to nowhere

The wet streets. The empty streets. The dark streets. The streets that will soon be covered in snow. The streets with lights that have no meaning to you. Lights that blind you as you walk by with fully dilated pupils. It was the crystal meth you took. A few minutes ago. In the dark back alley. Some of it slipped from your little silver packet and fell onto the wet ground. You fell on all fours and licked the soaking street, like a stray dog quenching his thirst. Hoping you will get some of it back. Flowing down your veins. Hitting against the internal organs. Shutting them down one by one. Crushing the wounded heart. Blasting away the maddening thoughts. Making you believe you are sitting in a warm, dry room, watching telly, your lover at your side. His arms wrapped around you, protecting you from the cold outside. Not giving a thought to tomorrow. No worries, no threats.
As your shadow slowly brushed against mine on this cold, wet night, all of this desperation leaped out of your pores and clenched onto my face, slowly loosing grip and sliding down my duffel coat. Some of it ended up in my pocket, the rest was washed away, carried down the streets by the winter rain.