The Outsider

He is met with contempt,
Misplaced anger and vengeful attempts.
Beaten with stick and greeted with stone
Suffocating his heart, breaking his bones.
Raping his dignity, stealing his pride
One has to wonder, what is his crime?

He is an erratic soul, of a forgotten time
Robbed of his family, his love declined
His rise to the top, halted in its prime.
His fall was hasty, but it will not end
Pills and alcohol, his only friends
Begging for whatever you can spare to lend.

Abused and assaulted until days’ end
Addicted to the needle, fell in love with the pain
Cradling his injection, keeping it safe from the rain.
No lies, no smiles all hope is slain
He is lost in the world, and he is all alone
Once a beautiful child, whose life went wrong
Now he is living on the streets, without a home.

©Alexander Berg Mattsson, 2012

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4 thoughts on “The Outsider

  1. bipolarmuse says:

    I love this poem. Thank you.
    My Dad was homeless… his devil was alcohol and in earlier days, pills. I was in complete denial that he was homeless until he was found dead on a park bench. I believe he was 47. 11 years older than I am now. Frightening to know that it could be so easy to find that path and never pull out of it.

    1. thepoeticgoblin says:

      Glad to hear that you liked it, Muse. Not too happy about hearing about your father and his tragic fate. Addiction is one helluva disease and people tend to overlook it.. It is indeed scary.

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