Indigince and Guilt

Jaundiced skin pulled taught over bones,
 worn as thin as opaque papyrus.
 Scrap and pull at empty ends as the constant din of static swells.
 Methadone gasp in bitter silence, unrequited and unbeknownst.
 Gaping cavern to swollen lymph nodes.
 Five pounds of flesh to a life of unrest.
 A goliath, a Judas, a hellion, invidious.
 Indigent mudlark, cadaverous dweller.
 C'est la vie, c'est la mort.
 There's no picking up the pieces when your back is pushed against the wall.
 No climbing back into the grace of a society with hooded eyes.
 Rest your head on callous pavement, charity and love are farce.
 Thousands of eyes gaze right through you, an occulus to their own indifference.
 C'est la vie, c'est la mort.
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 Five pounds of flesh to a life of unrest.