i am the refugee.


squirming through my skin, moulting once again, roots flailing like driftwood, bashed upon the merciless shore, my tears falling like bitter rain.


home awaits the many, offering comfort and solace.


no home awaits the refugee, just bricks and scattered memories left to submit and to crawl, lost in the ashes of torn yesterdays, a withered identity beyond recall.


i am not a leech, i have committed no crime, i have been long displaced by the wayside, vanishing into the folds of time.


i am the refugee.


as my skin creases with dreary repetition, no abode, no place of solace is found,

having lost myself in half-forgotten alleyways, dazed by the glitzy lights that all around me abound.


i forever trawl, for a place to call home, a dream that within me, perennially stays,

through empty frigid nights, and scorching lonesome days.


i am the refugee.







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