Bin

Here I stand
on the roadside
waiting.
Waiting for you to grab hold of me, toss me, and swing me.

Suddenly I feel your grasp.
Fixedly you clasp me,
turning me head over heels,
violently shaking out all the rot:
the half eaten memories, the staleness of lives not lived, not recycled, not rescued.
With no prospect of emancipation you’ll pour them into the landfill
to rot with all the others.

Setting me back on my feet, you’ll leave me standing,
empty,
on the roadside.
Waiting.
Until another fills me with their rot.

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