Poverty
Loneliness,
Sadness,
Coldness
These feelings all come to play when you are finally left on the cold streets
Forced to fend for yourself
Without a home to live in,
Or a bed to lay in
Or even a tree house for little children to play in
Sleepless nights
Blinded from all the fights
With nothing to lie awake with you but the eerie streetlights
But that’s not the worst
Of this living nightmare
You are given disgusted looks by walkers, hideous stares
You’re a freak, an outcast, a despicable lower less lifeform
Left with nothing but the clothes on his back,
And a small pint of hope, dignity, and pride
Deserted, abandoned, forgotten
You’re a dust in the wind
A dying element without a purpose, left behind to rot
But, that is the price we pay, when living in this cruel, unforgiving world