I live in a tent on a sidewalk
between newspapers, ass and armpits smells and my coffee bitter
go every morning for breakfast at six and wall street do
row as the other and I think how my life would
without public assistance or psychotropic pills
giving me the
General Hospital every day two of the month.
I am happy in this environment
walking in the shadow of buildings
my life is made of cardboard and my only anxiety
is when they close the place where I buy my bottles of cheap
wine.
Women come and go toothless
these streets no desire to live when
and I always tell my experience of bipolar
fear not recognized in my tent
no music, cigarettes, wines and a large penis
messy than expected from the seven on ...
