Street

Ain't it a kick in the teeth
to be told you take more
than you could ever give?
I'm riding along in my paranoia
and the scariest part
is that I have been proven right

I wish I did more than live
but my luck was never faithful
rather it wants me to spiral
Face in the dirt and body in rags
living out on the damn streets
has it's own broken charm

I'm too kind to ask for any help
and too bitter to accept it
It's my fault, I swear to God
Soon I'll be living rough
and there's nothing I can do
so help me please, Goddamn I hate this

All I want is a way of life
just a source of income
that isn't processed or alcoholic
You believed in me?
That's more of your fault
than it's mine
Though I blame myself everyday

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed