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Array
(
[sid] => 38123
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Mr.Heartbroken
[time] => 2004-03-10 17:19:51
[hometext] => As I watched the bum walk in the streets of New York
[bodytext] => Mr. Heartbroken An angry scar faced victim lays a token on the side A bus ride out of town left empty pockets in torn gloves A days love is today’s drudge to trek along the eastside section Bury a foot in the intersection of Madison & fifth holding a plea Hoping to be a sanitations helper scrounging a rich man’s garbage He can manage to find unused ticket stubs & chewed up hero subs Today he found wheel hubs of a taxi cabs last stand He rests every can back in place and drags a foot to keep in pace His face is puzzled each facial skin is connected like a web of misery He’s a familiar anatomy but an unemployed catastrophe His mastery is the ability to keep alive on a twenty-four hour day With a shirt tied away and a jacket shriveled and fray He has a lot to say but a small will to survive One might ask why? Well no one wants to die…. No one wants to try and no one wants to fight So now he has one life line down and off the path He’s on a wrath of vengeance stating his evidence Uncle Sam’s precedence stole from the poor and gave to the country No hungry money thieve could ever believe his claim Mr. Heartbroken, was his name and to hell with America was his reign. Like last night he avoided the shelters and ran for cover He lied under a salvage dump truck on eleventh and twenty fifth A paper and a gift: a half drunk bottle of old vintage wine A waste of time ticks away on a cracked glass worn leather band watch A dry scotch rapes the throat and intoxicates the stomach A subtle plummet to his knees a wish to pray to God A silent nod to his mural; a pee stained cement wall A short crawl to grab scavenged remains of unwanted clothing A sorrowful loathing to Mr. heartbroken. He’s left out in the open with a dead man’s toys Mankind’s city street noise plays the sounds of car horns All his scorns rot in his slump of oppressive abuse He has no excuse no family, no money, no meal It’s no big deal but then again this is New York A desolate court of homeless pride a steady course to suicide Everyday we decide who gets our left over pennies and dimes They try to find another New York Times ad to cover their soul Another hole dug deeper into Times Square’s surface There is no purpose to live and no purpose to die Mr. Heartbroken, why try? Why keep going why not die? He looked to me with a soft spoken cry and an awkward glare Because you care…I do this for all those that suffer out there.” [comments] => 1 [counter] => 911 [topic] => 61 [informant] => Jacktripper [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => selfstruggles )
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