Pushed, forced, beaten

Shown the door

Wrists blanketed in lines

Forearms like a pin cushion

Eyes older than the body

Lines with heavy black curves

Not of charcoal nor ink

Blood lines strike out from the

Black pupils and multi-colored circles

Broken shoes and tattered rags

Their only solace

Shaky walls and disease

Their only home

Bloody fingers and sounds of terror

Red ooze leaks from a stranger

He’s lived here for years

But the day we noticed

Was the day we tripped off

And cut his carotid

And watched him exsanguinate

All over our feeding floor

RATE THIS CHAPTER!