Fallen Angel

she stands on the corner,
shaking with the cold;
reeking of sex, whiskey,
and cheap perfume...

just a kid, really;
somebody's daughter...
lost in a maze of crack,
and violent retribution...

bruises on her face,
her arms, and her heart...
no way to go back,
nothing to go back to...

around the world, or
just a little head...either way,
she gotta pay the man,
gotta feed her need...

and somewhere there's
an empty room, in an empty
house, on a forgotten street...
a child dead, but not buried!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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