Poetry / Transient

You sit and cry
Wondering why
All this time already flew by
Your kids have left you
Like babybirds from their nest to
fly away to look for better days
You wish you could come too
Cuz now you feel too afraid
to be all on your own, in your own dirt and pain.

Now the gutter is your bed
and the bottle is your bread
Your having daymares in daytime
gettin more and more fucked up in your head.

Don care no more about the prize
just want your damn supplies.
So you make your living by small crimes
Small crimes turn into big crimes
small lies to big lies
From bottles to crack pipes

and now its too late to revise.

Darker and colder
Your getting older and bolder
Old friends passing by you
don even recognize you
Racing towards the end
Without a hand to lend
Your transient.

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