a sound, a simple movement of the hands
to make sure that every morsel lands.
trash can opens yet again
over and over.

everything useless goes
to a place no one knows.
leftovers leave our palms,
heading away with the rest.

left to get cold and rot
to which we think not.
the satisfaction in the thought
that it is gone and in other hands.

toys that no longer speak
left to die in the wreak.
no longer wanted by those
who once called them family.

leftovers and toys thrown away
are left to find their own way.

those who discard
are have this to regard.
they too become the trash,
forgotten in the waste,
the filth created by others.

we all lay to rot
this we know a lot.
on our own
by those that said
they loved us.