PaperHurricanesAndPlanes

Ya'll gotta stop hatin' on the homeless.

Paper Bottle

Walking on a darkened corner,
I had my bottle in a brown paper bag.
Every morning, you kick me off “your” bench.
You won’t even let me keep my blanket. Just last year’s newspaper.
You yell at me to get a job.

Some spare change, is all I ask for.
Surely you’ve got it.
And you say, not so you can get drunk.
But this bottle is all I’ve ever had.
And a few dollars here and there.

I lay on the street,
As wasted as the trash I’m in.
I curl up on the bags, cold on this city summer night.
Thrill-seeking teenagers pick me up, and bring me into an alley.
Beating me to punch-drunk pieces.

The bottle hits me in the face,
A bullet punches through my hollow skin.
And unlike you, I’ve got no memories to think of in my last moments.
So I think of the city sky, it does look so darkly beautiful.
I’ve a warm heart, and a cold body as I die.

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