Does anyone notice this man? With a bottle of Vodka he holds in his hand. I can smell him from a mile away. I can't help but to look. My eyes will not stray.
He wants to die and every day he tries. He has nothing to live for except his trips to the liquor store. His eyes are half closed and his lips are dry. He has no one to talk to except the cars that drive by. Scatterd hands tell him what to do. I hope his dreams can bring him somehere new.
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