Fantasy or reality?

Hunger and cold become constant; a day of life more and I do not know if it will be a gift or a curse, this body bears the scars of thousands of fights but of no real victory, In the outskirts, in the concrete jungle are the vultures and thousands of hungry wolves, There is also the medicine that is my perdition, in it I live a world of twisted fantasy and terror mixed with happiness, for it the people who loved me abandoned me.

I gave my dignity and change the heat of a home for the cold asphalt of a road, leave my health for filth, change my clothes for filthy rags and twisted curses!, return back to reality, but I don't like what I see, what I hear and what I feel, I wish and need to go back to that twisted fantasy.

The sun hides and gives way to the night, where the cold is my blanket and the sky my roof, dawns, and my mind it is asked again: why am I still alive? Will it be luck or will it be destiny?, or is it just the curse of a twisted fantasy?