Homeless man at hanston underground

Give me a lugaw.
Give me a lugaw when you meet me on the street.
Give me a nod as you pass me, one of the meek.
A child in perpetual timeout.
A blind man wanting to see the sense.
A deaf fuck finding sound in certain disdain.
He was my brother.
A kind soul torn between dreams and persistent illusion.
You we're my brother.
One I would call a trusted company of sinister motives.
Found out you were wrong.
Wrong to be right all the time.
Founded on misplaced disbelief.
Frowned upon your that's what you have to do.
What about the feel?
What about the heartache you once felt yourself?
What about the certain cement bed he was so lucky to have found.
I find it unkind, yes I do.
To have pressed your thumb on a being struggling for understanding.
That was uncalled for.
You, a lucky soul, lucky enough to claim credit.
How could you - Count the blessings that fell upon your lap like drops of rain so innocent it couldn't care less.
Hope you're a happy man -That would make one of us

Ideations

I'm trying to get back into the flow of writing. This is a warm up post and I do not expect much (and neither should you). Work is going okay, the honeymoon period seems to have ended and the easy out of bed passes are all used up.

Was the flow a lie? Was it all just being fresh from a healthier, steadier lifestyle? How do I merge the life I want with being a productive member of society (read: having money)?

Just when I thought I had it all figured out, here I am scratching my balding head once again. I guess I figured out I don't have it figured out.

Damn modern life :P