Kid, people are breaking their backs for those dollar bills you're breathing up your nose. Awake, unaware, I stare out the glassy window screen. Where have you been? (Where have you bean?) He quips. His shoes, unclean, boots to bear the brunt of a days hard work. So I stare him up and down like a jerk. What are you doing at my door? I find my insecurity lying on the floor. Befuddled- begging to ask about your falling mask of sobriety. Why do I? Oh,...
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Poetry