Every night he’d count his lucky stars,
But he could never get past zero.

He curled against the city streets,
Nothing to drink, nothing to eat.

He had no one.
No one to make him feel like the sky was only being held up
because they existed.
Every single day he searched
For a reason to be alive.

Painting a smile on his face
As he stared at the flowers.
“Aren’t they beautiful?”
Telling himself he loved the sky and its stars,
Pleading with himself to find enjoyment in something. Anything.
Because he was scared if he didn’t find something,
He wouldn’t be living anymore.

He was the withering flower on the sidewalk,
He sat in people’s shadows
And never felt the sunlight on his skin.

Goosebumps spiked on his bare arms,
The light in the windows looked so warm.
Soft gold…
The radiant glow of guaranteed survival.

Every night he’d count his lucky stars,
But he could never get past zero.