Homeless

I once lived the life of a high flying, rich financier, Walking the streets full of lights. Everything was my oyster, I existed on loft, Dancing the dance of great heights. My wife was my trophy, beautiful house and hot car, My kid a great footballing teenage. We all appeared perfect to everyone else, But behind walls was a family rage. I secretly detested my wife’s shallow, her needs and wants, And she hated my bodily yearns and desire. And my kid would self-harm, to feel anything, He’d burn the skin on his arm with a fire. Then the stock market crash, my wife remarried more wealth, My kid ran away with his gay college friend. And I sleep here each night, with a cardboard walled house, Homeless, in the rain, on the west end. For the seekers contest on being homeless