Nobody Got Time for a Soul
You get used to livin’ in the ghetto. Wouldn’t think it but you do. All the apartments smell weird, like somethin’s gone to rot inside. It’s loud, people always yellin’ and screamin’ but ain’t nobody payin’ attention. And the whole damn place is fallin’ apart.
Days ain’t so bad but the night’s is fierce. Gets so cold they burn fires in barrels. Anythin’ gets tossed in as long as it burns, even some thin’s that don’t. Scrap wood, broken furniture, garbage, even books.
God, I hate it when they burn the books. All them lost words. I try to grab ‘em before they go on the pile. Seems like a sin to me, but what do I know. Never been to school. Too late for me now.
When I’m readin’ I can forget about everythin’. My whole, horrible, miserable existence. The basement’s quiet, but it’s cold as hell down here. And ain’t no one come since the elevator broke. Been stuck down here a while, I think. Maybe fell asleep or somethin’. I tried callin’ but it weren’t no use. Wonder if anyone will ever bother lookin’ for me. All these ghosts here ain't nobody got time for a soul.
Submitted to: Poet's United Pantry of Prose #7 - Gothic Fiction