Homeless - Poem by Conor JJB
A nameless man walks this town,
With shabby clothes and a stone face frown.
The concrete is his bed, your coins are his life.
He slowly withers away under orange street lights.
He comforts himself with a liquid from a needle,
A brown based substance christened for evil.
It soothes his pain, sedates his mind,
Helps him forget the family he left behind.
And now the general public need not wonder why,
The nameless man has curled up and died.
Has he failed us or have we failed him?
A dealer with drugs is easier than a waiting list to get in.
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