Powerfully penned, Thomas. Excellent write with precise imagery my friend. This was raw and real brother. Appreciate you.

Damian

Another dark slice of the side of life most of us abhor and pretend isn’t there at all. It is so difficult trying to picture you there, my friend, so hard to think of anyone other than make believe movie made bums living hard, rough lives no real, educated man who writes so beautifully could possibly live among and be himself, hanging on to humanity by the slenderest thread. You show me parts of myself in these seedy climes, just another few tarifs or heists of my rent away from joining you on your morning quests. You bring tears to my tired morning eyes.

Thanks, my friend. I appreciate it.

Freaking great piece with the real life descriptions dude, tight work

Much appreciated.

“trying not to get hit by their apathy,
daylight swallowing my quiet survival.”

That right there sums up so much in this world. Identity means nothing without a trendy label to too many. And those struggling to survive, invisible. The undecided dawn was one helluva exclamation point on the situation. Another solid piece of reality

Thank you.

Ouch.. Hauntingly penned, Keith. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

This is a hauntingly intense poem! One of the cases where you can completely understand the underlying motif. Nevertheless, everything in me cries for a peaceful solution.
Great job, dear Keith!

Powerfully penned, Keith. A well thought out list my friend. I thought for sure you’d say selling organs on the dark web. That was uncalled for on my part, your influence has started to rub off on me. lol. Appreciate you.

Damian

Number 8 is the artist’s way. If the artwork didn’t sell you can always return to the Hannibal option.

In the crime novel The sculptor” by chris Carter, the killer does exactly what you suggest, creating art of his victims. You should send him your list. I’m sure he would be very grateful.
Your criminal mind is as adorable as your creative mind my friend!

At the weekly neighborhood meeting, old Mrs. Duarte leaned in toward Paulo with a conspiratorial whisper. “Get rid of the evidence for good.” Paulo froze. He’d only been in charge of organizing the community bake sale for two days — what evidence could she possibly mean?
She pointed at the table behind him. There, in plain sight, sat the charred remains of what was supposed to be her famous lemon cake. “It never happened,” she said, crossing her arms. “If anyone asks, tell them the oven betrayed me.”
Paulo nodded solemnly, swept the crumbs into a napkin, and decided that some secrets were worth keeping — especially when they smelled like burnt sugar.

You’re very inspiring, my friend. Hugs.

Powerfully penned, Keith. You gotta do what you gotta do. Amazing write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

hi dearest Keith sounds like a plan you could always meet someone new ❤️

Rocky or Expendables? Burger sounds good

Slayer, Stallone and steak are priorities. Well written piece. “)