Existing, Not Living
The tears left marks on her face.
The lines of stress still present.
They stole her life from our hands, not a
trace of the beautiful person that was living.
The tears cried on these streets. Us lowly,
poor people existing not living.
They stole so much from our lives. Lives now
hand to mouth, always begging.
They crushed the strength of our souls and
decided our lives weren’t worth living
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