I found you dying in the sunset,
As autumn in the City began.
Another woman took your picture,
And we laughed at your trash can.
Though we didn’t know your story,
We could feel there was sadness.
Because nightfall on 10th Avenue,
Is its own form of madness.
Your brown eyes were radiant,
Framed by the yellow of your hair.
But your body was completely empty,
And your spirit void of air.
Tragedy is often quiet,
The unspoken abuse of others knowing.
So we keep on breathing,
In our attempt to keep on going.
But sometimes air isn’t enough,
When 10th Avenue gets rough.
So I pocketed my phone and walked away,
Not knowing I’d see you again the next day.