A poem about Lil

Here's a poem that appeared on my page recently, written in my writing with my pen.

She shuffles along the street,
her feet in grotty slippers,
with a hole in the toe.
The footpath black beneath her eyes.

She glances up as the smell of expensive (maybe) aftershave
surrounds her in a cloud of scent.
A man hurries by in a suit,
with a phone to his ear.

Her legs are wrapped in loose stockings,
baggy around the ankles.
Covering startling red blood spots
and wiry grey hairs.

With one hand
she yanks up her skirt
that slides down her hips,
her frame wasting.

A clear drop
hangs from the tip of her nose,
threatening to fall, wobbling.
She leaks now.

People look away as they pass.
Afraid to meet her eyes,
in case they catch something,
or smell something they'd rather not.

But they already have the same disease,
they caught it at birth.
Avert your eyes if you will,
one day you too will be like Lil.

(Thanks for reading, love K).