You come along to collect money, and sympathy.
Propped up like a puppet; a desperate sales force.
There is commerce in loneliness.
You sit there, solo, the way I do.
Even among all those people,
you are still alone.
Blocks of blank spaces fill the ground,
paving a path that may lead
to your salvation.
Daddy didn’t prepare you for this day.
Winter coats worn by most
as you sat there – limbs exposed.
Paint peels off the wall and floats
away, the way the smile
fades into your cheeks.
A hatbox full of coins
could never fill your void.
You come along because you have no choice.