It had been many nights hence,
I’d been living –
Under the dim lit street lamps
Sleeping in a cardboard box
Sniffing – smell is as good as meal (?)
Being lost and now homeless
Running away –
It now seemed away not worth this
(Was it though?)

It’s been after years,
Years, and years of abuse
Of sexual profanity
By this person;
Apparently, supposed to shelter me –
Help me out – yet I ran
Was I right?
(It’s normal, I suppose – not)

Without anyone looking out anymore –
For lust or worse
This concrete my grave –
A box my coffin
(Dead drama?)
That’s at least better than being covered – white
Liquid not cloth
In frost not fingered touch

Die in hope – not a lusted quiver

Lusted

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