Saturday Shoppers

Written by: Christopher Wellbelove

I stand in a busy street,
My clothes all torn,
No shoes on my feet.

As I stand, I cry.
And from my eyes a thousand tears,
Trying to escape,
The suffering inside.

I look to strangers,
As they pass.
My face pleading,
For help and love.
But no one stops to help me.

Sorry, someone does stop.
They punch me in the stomach,
Spit in my face.
They kick my body until it burns,
Put a cigarette out in my hand.

I lay helplessly,
Upon the pavement.
The biting dust,
Digging deep into my wounds.

A family passes,
They walk over me,
Digging their heals into my skin.
The happiness they have,
The grit on their shoes.

Two lovers pass,
Hand in hand.
Smiles flowing from their faces,
Love within their eyes.

They laugh,
As I sob,
For they know,
I've not got,
The love they have.

My bodies on fire.
My eyes red with crying.
I attempt to stand,
My arms embracing my pathetic body.

I take a step back.
So shocked am I,
As I see another strangers reflection,
Staring in my direction.

The stranger stands before me,
Tears digging their way,
Through his dirt filled face.

Clothes covered with blood,
Hanging from the living skeleton,
That fought loneliness with starvation.

Behind the stranger,
More Saturday shoppers pass,
Some ignoring,
Others laughing,
But none of them caring.