Taking Out the Trash


It's simply



Completely and Utterly sickening.


The stench hits your nose first,

and through your gloves,

You can feel the cool muck leaking through the holes

that you didn't even realize existed

until you tried to pick yourself up and tow everything away.


And with your last drops of quickly depleting strength,

You shuffle around and lift it as if it was an offering to the heavens,

but Mortality fails you and you falter.


And you let go.


And there it sits in front of you,

Like the carcass of a Dead animal,

Black and oily in the hot sun,

Slowly waiting to decompose.


It bleeds a putrid substance out of the holes

that you didn't even realize existed.


And it mournfully slumps over into its own waste,

its own trail of destruction,

And it lays, shiny and grotesque and mutilated.


You gather your strength again,

And haul the depressing figure from the ground

to throw it away.


What a waste.

What a waste.



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