Garbage Day

Reads: 141  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Sometimes you can be mad at yourself when no one else really is.

Submitted: July 23, 2018

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Submitted: July 23, 2018

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One day I think about running out of tears. I dream about running out of tears. A sack of burlap flesh half-full of angry bees dredges through mud and fears, while the cranking sound of broken iron knees like clogged wheels under a grey wet wool blanket weep. What will you do? "I am too tired!" cries every body part except the eyes. I, the world, do not believe you. You do not cry. "I just need to rest" begs every body part except the open yellowed eyes two peeled bruised apples dragging against the sack like chicken wire kisses. I do not care. "I know" begs it, as it gets roughly thrown aside, it's thighs crushing, empty wine bottles in a compactor. "I know" it whispers in acceptance, picked up by metal claws and into a pit. Still, no tears spill.


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