Sitting in a jail cell,
homeless no more,
bothering with the voices,
spreading feces on the walls.

Ready for release to
a shelter or
psychiatric ward, he hopes
to be back on the streets soon.

Withdrawing from cocaine
and alcohol,
shouting louder than all the
voices in his head, banging

his head on the black bars
in his jail cell,
splitting his forehead, the blood
sparkling on his face and clothes.

Withdrawing from himself
and everyone
else around him. His only
friend was the voice in his head.