Poisened

Everyday I walk past this pond. Full of trolley garbage and pissed
stained bottles. It's raped surface: a thick floating foam of toxic
chemical waste. Its nothing but a mass of sludge grime poisened
shitpit.

Somehow the ducks still survive. Flapping their sad polluted oilslick
wings. Mutated by humanities fucked up insanity. They feed on twisted
garbage fish: nightmare creatures, who lurk in its sewage stink.

On a bleak parkbench sits an old tramp. With a brown paper bag
concealing a methylated bottle. Yellow stained nicotine fingers hold a
fagcancer stick; that he continually kisses with his cracked lips.
Sandpaper face all rough from lack of razor's attention. His sad
drooping lifeless eyes stare into the stinking polluted hell: that is
that pond.

He sits there everyday like a ghost. I wonder what he thinks about?
What's his story?