|
Jaundiced skin pulled taught over bones, |
|
worn as thin as opaque papyrus. |
|
Scrap and pull at empty ends as the constant din of static swells. |
|
Methadone gasp in bitter silence, unrequited and unbeknownst. |
|
Gaping cavern to swollen lymph nodes. |
|
Five pounds of flesh to a life of unrest. |
|
A goliath, a Judas, a hellion, invidious. |
|
Indigent mudlark, cadaverous dweller. |
|
C'est la vie, c'est la mort. |
|
There's no picking up the pieces when your back is pushed against the wall. |
|
No climbing back into the grace of a society with hooded eyes. |
|
Rest your head on callous pavement, charity and love are farce. |
|
Thousands of eyes gaze right through you, an occulus to their own indifference. |
|
C'est la vie, c'est la mort. |
|
Five pounds of flesh to a life of unrest. |
