Scarves Rings and Lipstick

PROUDLY TRASH

The human race

The scum of the earth

The jagged scar on the planet's charcoal face

It covers every square inch around the globe

From the burning forests to the oily seas

Even the deep underground where they unearth

Digging its entitled population even deeper

Stretching its girth

Equipped with the power of consciousness all these are obvious it seems

While some hug trees

Others grow unsteady

Achy from bending the knee to the self-modelled monster called society

These may even be called real problems

This would be a call to solve them

But you can't ask the trash to take out the trash

I like to say 'We are beyond saving' but let's talk about me

I love the sound of my own voice and I don't listen

Scared or overjoyed my steps hasten in the opposite direction

I draw satisfaction from glorious moments knowing the time will come when my eyes glisten

I put myself first

''The wicked get plenty of sleep, it's the rest they don't get''

I can be a spark or a spec of dirt at your feet if only there was time to let

I trample over the egos of others assuming they know the drill

I have a worrisome thirst, so I drink 'til it hurts

I can't keep myself in check so when it's time to pay the bill I use the victim card

And get mad when it declines

I love easily

I feel inclined to care

Especially about things that aren't living

I've never been a master at forgiving

I'm the gift that keeps on giving

Only if you wrote 'Bullshit' on your stocking

I'm a hypocrite in denial

I have the attitude of a bear

It changes with the season and for some reason I still get surprised at the wrinkles on my nose

I can only care for a little while

I have the attention span of a sparrow so as you wallow in your own self-pity and sorrow I'm probably in the next tree

Swallowing anything but my pride

Closed away from those close to me

Like the way I keep telling myself it's supposed to be

So enough about we let's talk about me

Let's talk about you

I'm trash

Covered in lace and silk

Decorated with African beads

As bitter, inflated, green and spoilt as a month-old carton of milk on a sunny shelf

I fester and boil with a smile on my face

Scented like the garden of defiance

In alignment and alliance with filth such as myself

Eager to lash out at whoever dares to enter my place of sanctuary

I am proudly trash

I burdened myself with the weight of the world;

murder, lies, and hatred plus a pint of cold blood.

I balanced the scales with a pound of my flesh while everyone else remained whole.

Is that the effect of justice?

Hunchbacked by my bent spine just as Atlas kneels on calcified knees

I hosted a sphere of parasites, smiled and waved as I served tea;

a delusion suffered as a side effect of hating the self.

Crowds cheered as I lifted all that was contained in this toxic voluminous circle.

A signpost caught my robe, freeing it required hindsight and a tug;

the letters read: "Marty's Way",

fame and glorious orgasms did not wait for me at the road's end, just a cold grave.

Freedom from my possession was delivered by righteous violence — sewing the mocking mouths shut, burning the noose that spelt out my name, cutting out what I'd been carrying and dumping it in the drain.

The Father of Lies adopted me, and I copied his habits.

Denial covered up my sins.

A winter's fire in the desert kept me warm-blooded after rejecting warm blankets.

Behold, another cold-blooded murderer skilled in deception is born.

I'm not spinning a story this time.

This is as real as a snorter's line.

See, little difference exists between you and me,

You? Nothing but a fat leech about to blow,

Me? I grip tightly on the gavel and relieve myself on the bench.

We both love what we do; your leeching, my judging.

But who inserts the IV when the host is bedridden?

Who posts the bail when the subject is arrested?

Mothering the human race is a call to accept madness, and I have been declared sane.

Imagine the shame of having a child that takes, keeps and never replaces.

I'd throw it away, but a landfill deep enough doesn't exist,

By the off-chance that I succeed, who will then toss me on top and place the lid?

You can't ask the trash to take out the trash.

So I will sit here and watch from my high seat

Banging on the gavel as the world wastes away,

Spitting my pride as the world wastes away,

Festering as the world wastes away,

We're all trash and there's no collector.

Co-written by Rosslyn06 & Lander One

PicsArt by Lander One

Links and @ in comments