There Is No Flash In My Eyes.

Rusted
tins and loaded bins

I
lie here shrieking to the wind

I'm
a pile, a mess, a broken coward,

looking
at passers by

they
move fast like robots

controlled
by wealth

as
I use stealth to hide

from
what could be a sinister confrontation.

I
have no light in my heart

there
is no flash in my eyes

no
sparkle to enlighten a lover

no
creativity in my rugged head any more

I
might jump off the highest mountain

to
feel a buzz and to die.

The
frequent swerve

they
all ignore me

with
their coffee breath

and
their cigarette hands

this
world isn't wholesome any more

it's
a cubical of greed and sexual menaces.

Today
I made a truce with myself

under
a ragged piece of a sleeping bag

counting
loose change

patting
the concrete to swallow me up

to
spit me out into the arms of someone

who
might care enough to battle with me.

That
truce is failing

I
am soaked in stale beer

it
seeped through the holes in my shirt

I
stink and I'm on the brink.