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Ban Captain Caveman
Join Date: Jan 2007
Location: In The Realms of Poetry
Posts: 560
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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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