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.