Crack heads and coffee shops

The streets are cold and mean
Suspicious and cautious, they cross over
It's dark out and it's threatening rain
He pulls his hood over and prays
"God, please take me from this loneliness, come into my life"
Not knowing, God is already right there, asking him to make a choice. To flip the switch. Do this.

He can't hear; it's too noisy in the empty streets
All he knows is that he's the King of those streets...
Until they come for the money he doesn't have
...Or the liberty that's not his to give

So he enters the warmth and glow of everything that is false
Mini society that can't deny that he exists
They have no reason to refuse him
He has money and a friend
He can't be up to no good
Surely, he can come in?

He sits. Hands shaking. Uncomfortable
He looks up afraid to meet the pity in her eyes
He wants to be normal as though the crack is a lie
It is a lie
It lies to him.
It takes from him the desire to be truly seen for who he is
Not a hard rock
Not even a diamond in the rough
- he is perfectly and wonderfully made
"Why can't they see me?" He screams from inside his mind
...but the words slow down and change tone and come out like,
"So how's life treating you?"

He wants a normal conversation and to be normal again
But he can't remember how to get back home
Or where he belongs
So he sits a while and smiles
Before thinking about getting back out there for his next high

The rain pours, his desperation soars
and he's back in the illusion
That he's the king again...