The icing cold in your blood vessels as you lift your hand saluting the rich passerbys with your dried up throat with the wind cutting your voice, as you count how many euros you are from getting home and sleep to then take your medicine for your epilepsy and hoping you don't have a seizure or catch a cold.
YOU ARE READING
Prose and poetry
PoetryProse and poetry, feelings and speech in text. I wanted to live as a human, But never never really was a man.
