People judge others based on what they see.
Similar to books, people have chapters,
Some made long ago, and some yet to be;  
They change who we are, forever after.

A man, not alone, is left with his grief.
A man with no home, no place for his bed.
His glossy, bloodshot eyes yearn for relief
From many chapters better left unread.

Many people cautiously walk by him,
Seeing the ugliness of addiction
But not the great sadness his eyes hold in.
They dare not ask of his great affliction.
  

Therefore, before one judges the cover,
They must attempt to read what is under.