 

A poem for a schizophrenic:  
The wind sweeps through the alleyway  
Where will I sleep tonight  
I call but You do not answer.  
Forlorn, forgotten, destitute, and hopeless  
Sipping water from the fountain  
I drink from this bitter cup  
Most people got a place to go  
But I drink, a life of agony  
Oh how I long for something more  
But the walls are to high  
Superman where are you now.

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