The Traveller

Years and years I roam, each night on a different memory foam,
Looking for a place that I can call home.
Sheets left bloodied in the morning, abandoned,
Drugs offer solace in the afternoon,
And when the evening approaches, another club is entered into,
Seeking forever for the one I can call mine,
Nine nights remain till the cancer kills me,
Nine nights, nine victims,
One police siren, the same one every night,
356 days ago, the cancer was diagnosed,
356 have died ever since,
Nine more shall receive solitude,
Till my body succumbs to its own tumour,
Nine nights later only one shall die, on a memory foam long forgotten.