Empty pockets

Wallet open—

folded bills, tired and crumpled,

a faded receipt

stuck like a silent witness.

Skipped lunch again,

watched others pass with coffee cups,

their warmth out of reach.

Invisible among the crowded streets,

counting cents like prayers,

hoping for a break

that never comes.

Money slips through fingers

like sand—

empty pockets

full of quiet shame.