so you're walking down the cracked paved road
lips numb and huffs of breath escaping through your nose
your hands are in the pockets of a large yellow hoodie with bloodstains down the sides, clutching at a crumpled ten dollar bill and shaking

so you're walking down a road
but you don't know where you're going
the feeling of not here so abstract
that you can't help but laugh at yourself for thinking that this would actually work

you know how other people see you
a small boy with a baggy sweatshirt and a mouth that tastes like coffee and cigarettes
it seems, recently, that everyone knows exactly what you taste like,
mouths pressed to yours in an effort to make the minutes stop
so you let them
because you're running out of time
and you figure that you should take what you can get

but sometimes, you're noticed,
even the feeling of a body pressed to yours, blood singing in between the ***** sheets of cheap hotels
even the thrill of easy *** cannot diminish the feeling
of a crushing weight upon your tired shoulders

your world is ending
and you know this
and you're having a hard time carrying on