a poor man watching traffic pass by,

knowing neither destination,

just the passing time.

his heart, without loved ones,

or a passion adored,

only drink and needle

keep him floored.

if he passed away on the street,

he would not lack happiness,

or a peaceful sleep.

he would only lack gratitude,

to see what seems impossible to reach.

i was that man a thousand times,

and ten thousand times more.

i was the eye on the road,

and the trash kicked to curb.

i was the guiding light,

and the troubled night.

at an infinite age of twenty eight,

i still stare at a mirror,

pray my demons wont stare at me.