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Warning: The following story may be depressing, and I am sorry if this causes sadness. The End Of Gregory Dean In a backstreet of a city, a lone figure bent crookedly over a meager fire.
The screaming crazy lady Died on a dirty street. Homeless and abandoned. In search of her retreat. No one cared for her, No one thought to bother, Until she was killed by An ill fated attacker.
Many hours had passed and I spent my time helping the homeless and giving food to the hungry.
Embankment nights are cold and dark A chill is in the air Shining faces flecked with rain Reflect the streetlights glare.
He has a pavements for a mattress And his pillow: his own crooked arm.