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

homesadquatrain

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