Forgive Me for Existing
a slumped backpack
swollen with filthy clothes and
cans of tepid beans and soup
smudged gloves
parchment fingers and palms
fumbling with a greasy guitar
stained teeth
calcified pockmarks
rancid feet, plastered, caked in grime
numerous split ends
terse coffee-breath
fuming past chapped lips
unkempt
disheveled
reeking of sweat
these morose puddles of mud
sopping slip and gravel
drilling a conscientious hole in the ground
it doesn’t always rain
but I always hear footsteps
