The words choke in my mouth. The screams of impotence freeze on my
lips. My fingers can’t feel, they’re cold and irritated for not having a coin
to give or a good to acclaim.
I see my reflection in the train’s rails and the injustice in the
carriage. A carriage that is home to some and warmth to others. I hear the out
of tune guitar between the footsteps, begging a gesture that will promise it
that tomorrow will be better, but the gesture never comes.
I look around and my eyes aren't capable of comprehending how the
most prized possession of the man in the corner is his shoes and of the man in
the cafeteria is his new phone. My heart breaks when it hears the sound of
assumptions; those who take shelter between the wall and the concrete are
despicable and got there by their own judgment. Lie, I scream.
When the ice of the wind has soaked my body, I break and cry for those who live without living, for those damaged smiles due to society’s rules and for those newspapers that are pillows. My tears promise that those newspapers and those books in the back of the library will someday proclaim justice, they will be the beginning of the way home for the desolated and the flower that shines in the vase of their four walls. Because everyone deserves four walls.
When the ice of the wind has soaked my body, I break and cry for those who live without living, for those damaged smiles due to society’s rules and for those newspapers that are pillows. My tears promise that those newspapers and those books in the back of the library will someday proclaim justice, they will be the beginning of the way home for the desolated and the flower that shines in the vase of their four walls. Because everyone deserves four walls.