Wherever I will sleep tonight,
I’ll get another bedbug bite.
No comfort shall I know,
in cots, row after row.

No peaceful dreams for me.
No cocoa, no hot tea.
Just a smelly, creaking cot
and the scent of fungus rot.

“Who’d want this life?” I wonder.
And everyday, I sit and ponder.
How much longer can I last?
Will this ever be my past?

All they say is, “move along!”
When I rest, I’m in the wrong.
I know for me, there is somewhere.
But right now, I live nowhere.

My bed is on my back.
Or in another homeless ‘shack’.
I guess I can’t complain.
I’m not in the pouring rain.

I bow my head in shame,
since they think I am to blame.
Some of us do drugs and drink.
We can’t help it if we stink.

Sometimes, the shelter’s full.
Don’t they know I’ve got no…