Trash, by Kelly Grieve

He’s loving and he cares
So much. How does he care
One second like that and then
Snap he’s out
He’s created a love inside
Himself that I have no part of
I’m a teddy bear, soulless and
Crammed full of fluff
Snoring away at my shoulder
My meaning diminishes
Second by Second
You were always so good at
Reminding me how little I mattered
You always expected nothing and in return I gave you just a little bit more
than that.
Husk of humanity my awareness
Rattles in me like a lone marble in a tin
Can, not light enough to shake
Without its sad dead weight clunking
Around so slug and burdensome
dreams of the bullet that stops my
Thoughts but my life is not even my own
They have it, bought stock in it,
Inherited rights to it.
Can’t you share the sweet recipe of your
Light, dry, vapid interest for this life
Do you run for the same reason I would?
To disappear. To lose existence pound by pound, then come back to torment yourself with vulgar thoughts of indulgence
Tell me how to do it, damn you
Tell me how to see the world and everyone in it as disposable, show me how to be a man in vacant peace
Is the only way to know it as a woman to be completely used, bombed, hollowed out and burned up from the inside. Is that what we all need to learn in your eyes: how dispensible. I need a warrior for my child, not this soft pile of defeat that breathes beneath my chin. I only wanted to be you, silent, echoing, formless, just waiting for this absurd existence to stop making you laugh. Is that why it doesn’t matter? You, me, us, them? Is that why it’s all a joke and you’re faithful to some kind of ridiculous discipline, loyal and gluttonous in your guilt. Please explain, because I can’t grasp how
to be so selectively blase’, so full of sin and yet so righteous.
Stop soothing yourself with my sanity,
My acceptable behavior is not your
warm gun,
You cannot peg what you cannot see
My madness is not your excuse to be
deplorable.
Avert your eyes because this is messy
and you have everything to do with that
And of course you can handle it, you were born with the gift of numb conscience,
Endowed with euphoric void
How I long for my death to know what
it feels like to be you. But wait, that’s not
how it works, is it? There’s only a second in passing where I might feel such an epiphany. Because my existence is cursed and yours chosen. Delightful.
I will do all that I can now to turn myself out and emptied from the inside. You think that’s how we’re designed but that’s the joke. Ballooned with sap and scorn and sorrow. Daggers of love slicing up our insides into laughable sandwiches of compassionate lust and pain, and the bite is so offensively juicy and intoxicating that you sicken yourself and hungover, you retreat to your bland bites of safety, because you don’t understand moderation, only the ever beckoning carrot of ego dangling from the stick of your compulsion.

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