A day in the life of a beggar

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A BEGGAR I shriek at high pitched tones in discordance, mumbling words unnaturally formed, stretching minute chords of my vocal tract, i was a sight to stare on the bustling street, irregular hair mass pivoting from my scalp, thick outgrowths of beard stubs sprawled across face, a breeding place for minuscule street insects, feeding in comfort, on unwashed dirt , adorned in threadbare sac, reaching my ankle, i felt like an official prince of the poor, being mentally traumatized since i was born, brutally whipped at all quarters of life, utterly bereft of a shoulder to droop upon, looked upon in contempt by all passing me, a large slate of wood to perch on all day, cold stone pillows the armory for sleep, a meager consumption of hard bread and contaminated water, i spent all my life by the fountain side, with droplets of misery showered in plenty, an empty begging container my proudest possession, dangling from my skeleton shoulders, i have to make an early exit friends, there seems to be a traffic jam, luxury cars seem to be the majority, where in lies the crux of my begging activity