Concrete King

By Matthew Chase

Published October 11, 2015

images-1I am a concrete king, but I’m not the only one

25 years gone by, but I can still remember the taste

Of living among humanity, and not just the rats

I once held a dream in my hand, now displaced

The big house, good family, a quality of life

Too late did I realize dreams are such fragile things

And I lost it all: body, mind, and home

I don’t even know where it all went wrong

I didn’t hold tightly enough, or so they say

I didn’t work hard enough, so they tell me

I’m just not good enough, a waste of space

To fall so far from the heights of a normal life

Hit rock bottom and further still, a black hole into the undercity

Estranged from everything and everyone I love and know

Where hunger and despair is met with “I can’t help you” in indifferent tones

images-3I walk these streets, banished in my own country

Living off the scraps of civilization

Another man’s trash is my survival

The only comfort I receive is the bottle to help me sleep

My bed for a harsh blacktop sky and dirty gray linings

Spending days and weeks at a time behind iron bars

My very existence making me a criminal

Only to be released back out into this world

With one less shred of myself to keep

Better off neither seen nor heard, remain invisible

So people don’t have to remember

Remember that our fates can be easily rewritten

Everywhere you go, you will see me

I’m a concrete king, and I am not the only one