The low upon our streets
How dare they exist
A reflection of what we all could be
Unwashed unwanted and hungry
Chapped and scabbed lips
Blisters upon their cheeks
Ratty tattered clothing
Why must they be seen
As they cling to what little shade there is
Blood and piss stained blanket
Corrupting our painted grass
Mirror image in crome as you pass
Just get a job you bum
Everywhere is hiring
As though mental disease
Can be overcome with ease
But please continue to critique
Judge from your padded leather seat
Don’t forget your cooled cushion
To sooth your chapped ass cheeks.
YOU ARE READING
Ink & Tears
PoetryThis is a collection of poems that I have written about my struggles with depression, anxiety, love, nature, and the darker aspect of the world that seems to always hammer on my heart. I hope this reaches some of you.
