Ghosts in the high rise, spectres on the streets

 
Sorrow..
language of the streets
foggy memories  
as faded clothes go
Cracks, where level surfaces played  
how it was back then.. innocence  
carefree like kites
 
A worn out motor passes
as if? (searching the city)
Inwardly the occupant looks  
frantic(but with purpose)
This is no place to rest (recover)
 
Naked  
bare boned  
save for the rags he hides behind
thumb out(Perhaps)
trying to hitch a ride(nowhere)
anywhere (but here)
 
This city makes ghosts of those  
that (choose) linger, out stay the (unwelcoming) vices that only spectres provide
 
Those friends you find then(strangest of places)  
when you fall (can't get up)  
turn the car back(even on empty)  
Just to pick you up, offering more than can be given(cherish them)