My eyes close as the sound of the train wheels vigorously ride along the rails it soothes my mind, the sound distracts me from the sounds of my roaring stomach. Having a forgetful mind seems to help with my new lifestyle but its awfully hard to forget I haven’t ate a decent meal in a week. I guess this is the true meaning of freedom. The train only occupies one of my five senses. People remind me of my overbearing smell of a unloved human. But who the fuck invited these morherfuckers into my home, the least they can do is pay me. But when I ask for money I just sound like another beggar. My truth seems to another’s lie. “Can anyone, someone help me 2 months ago my mother lost her life to cancer. She was the only family I had, she was keeping a roof over my head and food inside me. All I need is a little hope, anything would help really…please”. Silence is almost always the immediate response, can’t these people see the sorrow in my eyes or maybe thier hearts is as broken as my life. My eyes seem to have a blur effect on. I must have cried a million tears but wept softly for the angels could hear. But crying is no longer an option my eyes are as dead as my soul and is as dry as air. Two senses left that are diminished. Strangers leftovers is what live my tongue. Full meals don’t cross my mind anymore just happy enough to get scraps from a person willing to give, get my little taste of sugar from female distracted cashiers of nearby newspaper stands, that’s always the easy swipe. A million different adjectives to describe how I feel but it’s easier to say I feel broken. The pain of the loss of my mother crush the feeling of being homeless, the only family I had is gone and now my heart is a raisin in the heat.