Dirty Realism

He wakes up to the sound of a roach skittering on the floor
The sun peeks through the window, baking dust on the worn hardwood

His head is pounding with the remnants of last night's binge
The empty bottles, needles, and pills littered about the room

The fridge is near empty, just a few scraps of moldy bread and cheese
As he rolls a cigarette, the realization hits him hard - He's alone, again

In this world, love is scarce and money even more so
Every day is a struggle just to get by, survive, and find the next fix

His body is weary, His mind exhausted, his soul desolate
But still, he trudges on, trying to find meaning in this dirty realism.