The Broken Life

March 6, 2013
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He traveled the streets at night alone
Passing the travelers and shops
He claimed he didn’t have a soul
Only his eyes shown black like the night

His skin, I remember, was smooth and brown
His hair was like soft charcoal
He sold drugs at midnight in town
It began when he was 17 years old

He had no friends that would come to see
Or stay a while and talk with him
He left his family for a bag of weed
And wouldn’t return their calls

He said his mother didn’t love him anymore
He was all alone out there
To make a living, and yet be poor
And talk to me when he could

I said he should leave the drugs behind
Go back to his home and love
But he liked the risk and the grind
And preferred a life by himself on that island

Blending in with the shadows below
And smoking every night for fun
Not really knowing where to go
Only that he was young and free

If only he could be with me...

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