If I crawled dragging skin and bone.. drenching the city streets with my A B positive and drowning out the busy sounds with high pitched agony... Chnl.8 along with the most sincere prayers and neighborly love and sorrows would be at my beck and call...
Well, I've been doing that everyday.. just not quite in that explicit way. I sat on a bench at the corner of 5th and Park.. it was almost getting dark.. you all kept walking past me; head in hands with sobbing cries; u even glanced into my bloodshot eyes.. my agony u ceised to recognize.. did you really believe my heartache only deserved a few pitiful sighs? ! U have now contributed to my dying inside.. My pain was underestimated because my skin still held the contents of my body in...Nobody came to my beck and call. NO ONE AT ALL! You all ran to hide. 'Don't talk to her, that woman's got issues, honey.' 'But, mommy..' 'Hush, sweetie! She just looked at us funny! ' Damn woman, I'm lonely and crying, can't u see? At least the 9 yr. old had some concern for me.. but over time she'll be just like rest of society.. when she's grown she'll be walking with her little one and someday pass by another crying girl, which in her purse was a loaded gun... All that woman would cry for is attention.. perhaps a split second for someone to stop and mention that she should keep her chin up
