Walking in Rags

The hope of starving does not fade i move from abode to abode, expecting a pinch of salt in my broken bowl. It was sent flying, and ignore

Tattered and finished, I felt the air in my lungs the hole seems big my arm become my cover. the shed is torn

I gathered the pieces to start a living but it wasn't stable tears flow. my lungs are cold

©iyaniwurah.