Standing in Broken Shoes

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Flakes are threading from the sky, and I shiver.  Shove my tattered brown sleeves forward and fruitlessly rub friction between my icy hands.  It seems useless to attempt to warm my chilling bones but I have nothing better to do otherwise.  My feet have surpassed the burning feeling and have been swallowed by numb.  At least they don't hurt anymore.  My chattering teeth have become music from monotonous clicketing.  All the music I have besides senseless tunes hummed by passersby, who pay me no attention as I crumple my knees to my chest.  They shiver and complain as they pass, ignoring me, sitting still in the snow.  Their pricey overcoats and sweaters warming their suffering limbs, if they've ever even experienced the true meaning of suffer.  I shrug my torn, battered, and infested frump of a coat closer around my shoulders.  It hugs me with little warmth, if any.  Wish I had a car to rush to, a house to sleep in to protect my fragile famished body.  But I don't.  And I sit here.  In the snow.  By the side of the street.  Praying for someone to take me in.  To look past my grubby stubbled face and see my soul, my withering aching soul.  But they wont.  They never do.  They never will... God give me strength...
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