You’re trash.

You’re junk.

You’re trash of the sea.

You’re an animal carcass.

You’re a car crash.

You’re space spunk.

You’re shaven facial hair.

You’re a cracked mirror.

You’re zero in a bag.

You’re disposed of.

You’re leftover goods.

You’re last night’s one night stand.

You’re a lie.

You’re rusty nails on a children’s swing set.

You’re not defined.

You’re an expired carton of milk.

You’re dead beat.

You’re boiled water.

You’re unsexual.

You’re not really here.

You’re spit from a retired judge.

You’re junky.

You’re used bacteria.

You’re a monkey.

You’re crumbly eyeballs.

You’re shit blood.

You’re stinky girl’s panties.

You’re a dog’s wet balls.

You’re sweat between toes.

You’re nothing I ever wanted to know.

You’re garbage in the backyard.

You’re old trash now.

 

 

© 2002 David Greg Harth

02.03.28.02:56:26 @ 296 NYC