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John Doe
A body lays lifeless on the dirty floor.
The body of a man.
A hated man.
A tortured man.
A tool. A user.
His deep lavender red blood pools into the cracks of the cold gray cement,
Soaks up his life, his soul
like a sponge with water.
Whatever he’s said, seen, heard or done.
Now drearily seeps into an alley on S 9th Ave.
His handsome face, soft brown hair
Tattered
Warn
Dirty
Weak and open, vulnerable.
To the bugs anyway.
Will he be found?
Will anyone care to report this man gone?
Lost? Out of sight or just plain dead?
Looking into his eyes, you’ll see a story.
How Tarzan grew with apes,
when Hercules saved the day,
and brought his true love back to life.
and when his Achilles heel,
was mistakenly
left
unguarded.
His once stone cold blue eyes
peer into the night, a telescope,
little twinkles of the stars he once knew,
step into the heavens.
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