The Unfortunates
I am Tired.
I would lay down my head,
Like those on the hill
Laughing music through rich mouths,
If I could.
No, I'll trudge
In the night
Looking for scraps
A shilling.
I shall sell my body if I must.
I am Unfortunate
In this End.
This life
Mine
Harsh and cold.
The sky rains down sludge.
I wear all I own
And drink to erase
The herding of Cattle
My life has become.
And you shall leave
Like all the others have.
All that is left is an allowance
That will end
Now you know how I must live.
All I want is food
A drink A bed
But stolen Time and again
Of this
Just like he,
The city, the murderer, the ripper
Has stolen my Breath.