How many dying must there be?

So many untold memories

Who really cares, so many stares

People fade away everyday



Empty bottles tell sad stories

Filthy photos fumbled through

Grubby fingers buy a few

Sick finds for the creep



I can almost hear you breathing

Are you really out there crying?

I can almost feel you dying

Are you . . . Dead?



Parking lots of trash and treasures

Bags and piles of sinful pleasures

Discarded frightful secrets

Jaded eyes dig so deep



How many voices,

How many children,

How many choices,

How many lies,

How many deaths,

How many victims,

How many addictions,

How many loved ones,

How many lost ones,

How many searching,

How many barely holding on . . . .?



Did she find the answer?

Does anybody know her?

Does anybody hold her?

Does anybody love her?



We keep walking over corpses

Retiring our own feeble voices

Disillusioned in her volition

We can see the end