think

i see him waiting down by central ave
hes got a big scar on his left hand
i know its probably a fix hes looking for
probably not a friend
he asked if i had some money, like most of em' do
but when i said no, he acted like he wanted to prove
he was still worthy of my time
he drew a portrait of me on a bus pass
dated the 9th when it was the 10th
i asked him, "how much for this portrait?"
he seemed amazed i was talking bout cash
i gave him 10 dollars and thanked him very much
i just prayed for his soul, who by now, seemed ruff
it made me think, "who is this man? whats his voice?"
is he a drug addict? did he have a choice?
we all do.
his scared hand was not the right

forgotten

i am the forgotten.
the thrown away.
like a piece of trash.
words.
more words.
but always a harsh reminder that words mean nothing towards me.
who would've thought.

in the city