I have no home, no place in this grim dark city,
Where I may lay my head but the stinking gutter.
I am alone, unloved, with neither hope nor faith.
My worthless life is just one long disaster,
A meaningless stream of deep inconsequence.
Why not end it? Why not put myself to sleep?
In the lowly alley where my filthy body
Lies, sore-covered, in rank and odious rags,
I clarify my alcohol-confused resolve,
Crawling around among the soggy rat droppings,
Searching for some kind means with which to end myself.
At last, a broken bottle, friend to my waiting throat.
But it's only plastic and would not cut butter hot.
Instead of slitting my despairing jugular,
I barely scratch my grimy unwashed old jowls,
And then lie sobbing in the neglected culvert.
And a stray, mangy, cast-off, lonely mongrel mutt
Sniffs at my stained groin before pissing on me.
I have just reread this piece. It is excellent(about an alcoholic wanting to do suicide due to depression) .
Depression is man and woman's most unneeded disease, I pray to God to heal all your pain and anguish, to finally for you to be well and happily pleased!
A great write Edna. I was captivated by the extreme poverty you describe. 10 from Tai
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I laughed a lot at this.