That beggar always
On the corner of my mind

His hat heavy
Holding spared hopes

Him and I are similar kind

Who find
Dropped dreams
Mostly-smoked secrets
And half-eaten promises

While wandering through their refuse
With nothing of ours to lose

That beggar always

Asks me
Scraping at the change of my mind

And I pat my pockets
Full of empty thoughts
That I know can't satisfy his hat

So I smile back
And say

Dreams are like diseases
Some might have a cure.