WriteByte

My name is Sarah. I am 7 years old.

I sleep on the streets. I am so cold.

I can’t feel my toes, and there turning black.

I think they are broken, all out of whack.

I have no mother, no father, no place to call home.

I am shivering now. I am cold to the bone.

I dont have any money. Not a penny to my name.

I don’t even have someone to blame.

I haven’t eaten, nor drinken, since Tuesday, last week.

My need for thirst, my hunger, I am so weak.

I am so lonley, so cold, so sadened.

I lay down to sleep, in my box which is madened,

With a garbage bag and an old shoe for a pillow.

It is filled with some leaves, from an old willow.

The ground si so hard. My back is so sore.

I am so sleepy, but never this sleepy before.

I think this will be, my last few minutes on earth.

My last few minutes, here in Perth.

I am dieing, yes dieing, from hunger and thirst.

I doubt when I die I will get driven in a hearse.

I thought dieing was scary, but i was wrong.

It is so peaceful, like going to sleep.

My name is Sarah and I lived until 7….