I lived by the book.

In the streets, I’m the common crook.

I stand on the corners and

Chirp like the birds.

I run in and out the streets

And to the curbs.

The rocks aren’t only in the streets,

But in my pocket.

Around my neck,

I wear a gold locket.

Inside of it are dreams,

Lost dreams,

But the world has dried them all up,

Making them vanish like calming steams.

Everyday to the sky I look,

Regretting the day I read and followed the “book.”