i, preoccupied with my look, my status, my place in this world
you sit hairless, blood dripping from your eyes
violet lips plastered against the pasty white, not pink skin
a burn victim? a nuclear victim? a circus freak at oxford circus?
your eyes bore into me
burning your image on my being
but I give a condescending smile and walk by
got to catch the tube
things to do, people to see, and i walk by
with a false sense of importance in my calvin clein jacket
your still small voice drawing out my need to keep control
so i walk by
your hands turned stumps
complete the disgusting person before me
and i walk by
i cry out for someone to help
i cry out to god to save me, direct me, be real to me
and i walk by
not entertaining angels unaware
rejecting salvation
maybe you could have saved me

from myself