deepundergroundpoetry.com

Street Kids

We tear through nights
 like wrapping on a Christmas present.
laughing as we look behind to see how far we've let ourselves go.
It's all madness isn't it?
The figures are made of shadow only for the night.
We won't be seen in daylight.
How did we arrive?
Sorry, mister.
I'm just having some trouble taking this in.
You see a runaway and you hurry to look away
Go and disguise your contempt.
All the guile and filth headed right to your room and your sheets of silk.
So 4 in the morning is reserved for us, what are you doing then?
We're the creatures of the city nights marching along sleeping streets,
Finding trouble before it finds us.
 A quick look around and we're already found.
Not a peep nor a sound.
Out of a little street urchin's mouth. Little shit got rowdy.  
So they knocked him around.
Broken bones cracked ribs,
and his jacket is bloody.
 A head wound that screams on its own.
Hussies for mothers and
 nothing new of father figures.
other than they never really had one.
Nor did they care to become one. Mommy's appetite
for the needle means no food on the table.
 The fridge wreaks of something rotten.
Piles of dirty dishes, some filled with ashes, all fill the sink, and breed the little maggots.
 
Kids got to eat, and just like an adolescent, who's known only that his home's broken
He cares nothing about morals and laws and bureaucrats when his stomach is empty.
 
 
 
 
Written by ds3371 (david spears)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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