The Day I Never Wake Up

A shop doorway. A park bench. The sub-way station.

A shop doorway. A park bench. The sub-way station.

These are the places I have been forced to dwell upon. Countless nights I have spent there, discounted by the society that had once welcomed me with open arms and loving smiles. Forlorn in places so overwhelmed with people, that over the shortest periods of time, their  ignorantly, incessant steps become nothing more than the earth's natural pendulum. Keeping time for those who still have it.

My time stopped, when I was sixteen years old and I was left, alienated by those I trusted, and unexpectedly exposed to the horrors of the city's streets. Where, even those with the brightest of minds are left debilitated to the shadows that creep up on you when your least expect it. Leaving you alone and afraid, with nothing but the clothes on your back and your last dollar in your pocket; that'd probably get snatched before you had the chance to spend it.

Despite you hopes of fairy tale heroes (or at least a good Samaritan), nothing can save you from what's outside of your sleeping bag after the sun goes down. Making it through the night untouched, is the only blessing from God that I have ever received. Not that he is doing much blessing from where I'm sat. Which, by the way, is the corner of Elm and Rydell. In the doorway of the old bakery. It closed due to 'financial problems' a few years back, or, as anyone who sticks around long enough would find out, they were robbed and broken into so much, that they moved their business uptown; somewhere more picket fence like. Jokes on them though, everybody knows south of the tracks is all drug addicts, prostitutes, gangs and those so deprived of basic human necessity, they'll take anything they can get their hands on.

In the papers, they say it's an up and coming neighbourhood, but the only thing that's up and coming' is on Fifth Street, and lately, if you ask me, those ladies seem to have the right idea. I mean, at least they're making money right? A place to sleep. Food in their belly's. They're not sluts or sinners, they're survivalists. The most realistic adaption of Bear Grills you will ever see out in the world. And maybe- just maybe, I'd be better off if I was like them. No death catching winter's nights; to afraid that if you fall asleep that your not gonna wake up. Happens all the time. This Decembers' taken seven- not that I'm gonna miss fighting over scraps with them or anything but it really got me thinking.....

Bout the day I never wake up.