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Garbage (Poem)

From time to time I get that sensation of something eating away at me in some dark recess of my mind. Occasionally, the result is a poem. Hopefully writing it all down will keep me from going all Van Gogh on myself.


Garbage on my desk and in my garage.

Some of it in trash cans, some in stacks and stacks.

Sideways leaning stacks cluttering the flat surfaces.

Garbage in, but rarely out. 

A steady stream of refuse, some human, some forced through machines to come out lily white on the other side.

When will I become lily white?

Hard to be with so much garbage in my head.

Garbage on my TV. Heaps more flow from my computer and cell phone.

Work so dirty you'd barely recognize me.

Scrub the dirt off in the shower but fear it's seeping in to my soul.

So much garbage.

Garbage inside.

Garbage outside.

Buy more garbage whatever the ads are selling.

Take it home but garbage won't make me happy.

Heaps of garbage. Boxes of files. What's in them all?

Stuff in storage I never use. Why the hell am I storing it?

Memories I can't shake. 

Other peoples' garbage blows onto my front lawn.

I have enough garbage. I don't need their garbage too.

Is this garbage?

Am I just a trash receptacle?

Maybe God can recycle me.
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