Second Time By A Prostitute's Door Poem by Abiee Josy

I don't care about my life.
...don't care about the valentine with a red rose.
Who don't give a...
So this is second time where I stand.
Pretending like a matured man.
Across down down a dusk.
In front a rusted door knob.
A cigarette packet into my pocket.
My phone crying its loud.
A mini stair case beyond this door
Heaven lies up on this floor.


But Why can't people understand
the reality never change with time.