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stastic

By , moberly, MO
Statistic
I am skin and bone.
I can’t remember a time when wasn't hungry.
My feet are bare and aching.
I feel the sun burning my skin yet again, but there is no shade around to cower from the sun in.
I have envied the greedy Americans with their freedoms and privileges for many years.
How I am disgusted at how they can starve themselves purposely, and throw away what they don’t want.
I didn’t ask for this!
Who forgot about me?
What have I done so wrong to deserve this?
I have done no atrocious act, I have hurt nobody!
Yet I am still being punished.
The days go by as I become weak, I am sure to die; I will end before I have begun.
How I wish to hear a loving voice tell me I will be ok.
But no loving voice is there to be heard.
A tear runs down my cheek as I lay in the dirt.
I think that maybe when I die I will be in a happier place, and maybe just maybe I will be able to smile once again.
I take in a shallow breath, as I do I feel my lungs set aflame; it feels as if I am being suffocated.
My tongue is thick from dehydration; my breath is being taken away as I quickly as I breathe it in.
I take my last breath then I just give up altogether.
I feel the tears pouring down my cheeks as I fade away from reality and never return.
But as I die I know all that will become of me is another statistic.





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