Recycle Me. A poem.

I, the scrap,
On a detritus field
Of tumbledown moments.
I, the waste,
Along with the stains
And bitter reprieves.
I, the torn,
Of paper cut truths
And angst-worthy solemnity.

I, the scrap
Rusted, bent, broken
And, finally, discarded.

Recycle me,
But without
The endless drama,
Bad decisions
And bitter irony.

So, I may
Be of use

Finally.

For more Poetry, click here.

poetry books - stevestillstanding

For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Published by stevestillstanding

I’m a writer who loves tabletop role playing games, poetry, music, movies, comics, books and (you guessed it) writing. Occasionally I have something to say...

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