London Madrid

I took a picture of a fountain.
 Walked away instead of counting
 all the hours I had left before I had to go.
 Walking wanton a desperate city and the subway's cold
 and filthy but the homeless men are not aggressive.
 But I'm still afraid of them because I can't understand the cold
 and the language that he speaks is not as foreign as the way
 I treat him. Thousands of miles in one direction
 just to toy with my affection.
 Emotional wayside will, I'm ill and I want to go.
 I slept on the streets of London.
 Thought I had a friend in London.
 Until the bright lights woke me up and I'm still here.
 But I'm not afraid of him because I can understand the cold. And the language that he speaks is
 not as foreign as the way he treats me.
 Oh, and I want to go home.