the rubbish dump is a memoir the richest of its kind .. in it you'll find pieces of me ..pieces i couldn't leave behind 1. in a pile of waste: a lollipop rapper i saved to remember one evening ..the evening we fell in love . my wall is bare , my cupboard too of all the recorded memories of the happiness we once knew . my barrier of memories i so fondly look at to get me by , has empty spaces where our joy used to lie ... now, it's where the broken heart i ignore tries to hide .. it's bad at hiding , to be terribly frank . it's all i see .. i've stopped looking . 2. between a heap of fraud cheques, lay the torn smiles and scattered hopes once so familiar to us ..and that one picture , the only picture we ever got to take ..the one we vowed to never leave lonely really isn't anymore ..it's made friends :
the local rats are oh so welcoming .
the door of my depository , was once lined with prayers for God to save what we didn't know had diminished .. they're empty . gone . crumbled up and aching like the hurt i once knew . 3. in a rotting pile of once good fruit, lies the anniversary gift i was working on for you .
i didn't rip it ,
it's in mint condition
like the months that don't cease to progress
..however it's soiled ,
spoiled and gives off an alarming scent . its never really going to decay ,
it'll sit there as a dirty reminder of what you let get away
and fall into the hands of someone you've barely known .. giving her everything, with me, you'd rather disown . but it's cool ..i've got mines i've got my own . 4. in the TGER , the incinerator,
in the dead middle of the dump ..where all the mess gets lead to die a hot , smoldering death
...lies a piece of my heart all charred and useless
..so dead and dark.. only a piece, though . the rest was saved along the way by Grace . can you understand that ? not another , not a toxin .. Grace . because i sought Grace,
and, therefore ,
another found me .. you don't take the credit of something broken when something broken isn't broken .. just a little trampled on . but that's fine .. i gots mines . in a memoir rubbish dump lie dreams i let die , hopes i let rot and a piece of me i don't ever want back .. all works of art . the memoir is a rubbish dump : stinky , soiled , illogically valued, unnecessarily expensive and filled with old shit no one's ever going to need again . good damn riddance .
