Garbage Post: Post Garbage 3

Her trash, are my treasures.

I know it sounds foul but you’ve got to understand.

Somewhere, she’s been told her breath isn’t needed.

Abused, misused, rusty nails upright in her shoes.

My hugs are not enough to keep her awake.

In her dreams she can rest, mask peeled from her face.

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So I say every night in her precious scared ears,

That her best and worst are the opposite of cursed,

She replies, all is garbage whenever she tries to try,

And I say even if it is true, I rather garbage than a limp body and bad news.

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You’re going to see the sunshine a little past these steep hills,

Pray and believe your savior dumping out those lying pills,

Stop swearing there are answers at the bottom of these lying bottles.

I want you, as you are, to wake up, and kiss your alarm,

I want you to finally stand tall with your head looking straight forward.

What are you thinking about after reading this?

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