i am nothing
but a trash
compactor
taking words
from novel
to story
to poetry.

crushing out
meanings
until all
that sticks
to the page
is concentrated
emptiness.

no more
expectations
or diluted
dreampiss hopes
just silence
and shitty
lines of filth.

unable to
to face myself
a corruption
of beauty
under gray skies
a rusted cage
of ugly emotion.

a barren plot
with a warning to
potential buyers
proclaiming
i am haunted
by my own
existence.

the birds sing
static waves
under storm clouds
white noise
distorting
dreamspires
of happier days.

i am trash
compacting
indignations
into bite sized
bitter pills
swallowed dry
hoping to choke.