Falling Short (Poem)

Can't say I'm ever fighting,
always dying for the word,
coming down hard as snow,
reaching out in blindness.
The plastic people
eat from paper plates.
It's income disposable,
and throw-away friends.
Everyone just wants
a safe place to sleep.
Suburbs aren't affordable.
It's a pricey condo in
a nice neighborhood,
a downtown dumpster
in a shitty alley.
Money only buys you
more short-comings.
And those will always
bring you home.