In their hands there is no tomorrow,
Only the dirt of now , the
sickly hollow
Lives they lead.
With empty stares they beg to eat, roaming
Around the shallow streets.
Frightened and loud, bitter, thin and blue,
They want your help, but their help isn’t you.
Ignored and erased they remain treated,
Fighting the sadness, their nightmares
Stay seated.
In every cigarette and in every drug,
In every window they stare into,
Every soul they can’t become,
They thank god they lived to see
Another sun.
a.s x
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