He's sitting on the corner
Of the road you always pass,
He's always there, not always seen
All he wants if some cash,
He has no home to go to
No family of his own
He needs some help, some guidance
Won't someone throw him a bone?
You think he is a drunk,
a leach, a bum,
He drowns he life in alcohol,
Society considers him to dumb.
So he continues sitting in the cold, waiting for the chance that will not come,
His life was already over-
Before it had even begun.
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16 years old new to the writing world, I'll post everything and anything :) I will follow back! #projecthumanity
He sits, an empty day ahead, Eyes so tired, a heavy heart. Some prayers, his thoughts within his head. Seems no one cares if this man were dead.
I sit up in my little 'home' Not made of bricks, not made of wood, not even a little piece of stone. This is what I live in; A cardboard box-room enough for one.
Underneath the railway bridge Early morning fog Sits a lonely homeless man And his faithful dog Stands up tall and stretches 'Rover' does the same Another hurtful round Of the begging/busking...
#household I'm the bed that they lie on. The blanket that, keeps them warm. I can be their home, and with me they roam. Tired, hungry and cold, this is how they live.
You may think I'm crazy when I talk to the wall. Or think that I'm scruffy because my pants are to small.
A world of peeling paint and mildew, Where things stop working like clapped out minds.
#myfavouriterepost. (Sorry if there's too many). Hate forged metal. And kids packing heat. Horizontalizing bodies. And verticalizing feet. Putting lead into flesh. Without missing a beat.
The still of the night. Is a scary old place. People are walking. With pain on their face. Some are so drunk. They can not stand. Crawling around. Beer in their hand. Many of which.
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