Figuratively whispered, he said,

Pretending to live without being fed,

Hissing from clenched teeth, he spoke,

Without air, with spit, with a wicked croak,

Wretched and worn, he withered,

Under your scorn, he became disfigured,

Isolated from pity, broken, a stick of thorns,

He etches his name in skin, cracked and torn,

Dried leaves, he lies in the gutter,

A speech too long, he can only stutter,

A cry of help that hurts, a void that takes and takes,

A gap in the heart, decide, ugly or tragic,

Sewn with staples, bandaged with elastics,

Unseen by the rich, unwanted by the poor,

Deprived of love, lacking nothing more,

Yet tossed in the pit to bury the others,

Shut and stuck behind metal shutters,

Bitter and bitten, he slips to hisses,

But stab with your eyes, only his shell is vicious,

Baked and roasted, he cracks open,

Pink is his flesh, a heart that is fresh,

Pinches of the original,

Within all that is miserable,

A chance to live, an equal in humanity,

Give him love, abandon your vanity,

He wants only what you may give,

He wants only a chance to live.

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