Is It Poetry
When I see other's
hang on to their mother's tears.
Others their father's dreams.
When brother's and sister's
plot on each other for what they had not.
I see white maggots inside the window face.
The bottom of the barrel
without word's lost to them.
The lastest arrest of the crack monster he
means my mother's is worth even less.
His father's been dead for fifteen year's.
People read the garbage
of other's that speaks to lasting nothing.
Have you heard the last tweet
of some brain dead super star that you made.
Some bipolar whore that you like.
You made life delicious for only her.
She jerks off to the likes of you.
Retarded commercials you like.
I am not on the other end of the phone.
When you O.D. again and I don't like it one bit.
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Comments about this poem (Garbage Collector's by Is It Poetry )
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