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Maniacal Escape Jun 2020
I see a boy underneath the bin
He prays desperately to a deaf god
Looming over I can smell his despair
Rocking back and forth in holy existence
Your prayer won’t save you now little duckling
Say I to the rat
But on he chants, on and on to gods and clouds and demons
He names them all, one by one endlessly chanting his desperate canon
Where are your gods now?
Do they serve you a merciful end?
I ask as I slash his throat.
S I N Dec 2019
The cold and metal sterility of
Aisles as if the cobweb is stretching its
Threads in every direction of Wind Rose
All coming from core of the building
Prewar being pretty but now such a pity
To behold such a sight devoid of all bright
-ness and joy and just silver alloy is
Covering walls that just barely hold
The hulk bulk of this place O ‘Tis better
Erase every one and a-last my remembrance
Of past of this place O no grace was in
This nor in taking a **** in a sink or a
Bathtub a hot tub of water so scald just
To peel you off skin yours in a moment
Like this click-clack your body wrap
Around your bones though y’all are gone
From this den of all vilest and direst of
Creatures this world ever descry and was
Witness O no ‘tis place now occupied
With all fears and a fright of being
Dragged ‘nto that mess where no room
Was for lest you’d be one of their kind
But you need to get rind off these wall
And to fill all the holes with the bodies
Of moles yes of all moles in the world
You piece of O never mind a was just
******* and a **** in the sink
Of a bathtub whence water from time
Ago had all gone like o hell like you know
Vaporized leaving no trace for a plate
With a bread to be fed to that ones
Wretched dwellers who were all
Rolling Hellers till one day this one
Fellow ain’t show up in this joint
With his strap and his oint and
O no I just can’t I just cause you’re my
Friend but I can’t o please stop o
Please no o stop I can’t take i orghs

This one is out; bring another
This pile of **** to the others outside
Burn them after we done here
nick armbrister Mar 2019
Man Living in the Dustbin
There is a man who lives in a trash can
He’s a funny old character
Telling jokes and dancing a gig
Always happy and funky
He’s become a legend in his head
Something bigger than nothing
Following you to the store
And saying Hi then turning to go
Hoping you follow him
Then give him kindness
A sausage roll or bottled beer
The dustbin man who we see
Wondering why he lives this way
Sleeping in the bin his home
Very cosy if he ay say so
His dustbin down the alleyway
Where nobody will bug him
An ideal example of humanity
Living with a smile in his head
And setting the example
To always smile :)

from my new book out 2020

Upside ******* Down in a Blazing Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More by Nick Armbrister
Brynn S Nov 2018
The bin
Silly little boy
You say such odd things
Small quips of a king
Tall steps they must seem
How far you have traveled
How tired you must be
Oh dear child
Save your soft gleam
Thank you for your words
Each little line
Ridicule shall fade
All in good time
Isaac Aug 2018
Impatiently sitting on the bench ahead
Cup stares at me as if wanting to be fed
So I grab Cup and find a boiling kettle
Fill Cup with water hoping it will settle
But Cup begins to steam and nag
So I search the cupboard for a tea bag
Choosing one from the others, I quickly drop it in
The water changing colours, makes me throw it in the bin
I think the dark stuff is something bad
And Cup seems to look pretty sad
So I try to swallow the black stuff away
But my method seems to make Cup dismay
Before I begin, something hot hurts my lip
I didn’t realise that Cup could nip
So I hurry towards the kitchen sink
Tip Cup upside down, before I can think
Cup throws up, being upside down
I forgot Cup got sick when moved around
So I put Cup back where he was
I can see that Cup feels better because
Cup is no longer steaming or spewing any more
Come to think of it, I don’t know why I touched Cup at all!
Written 8 August 2018
Charlie Gnarly May 2018
Sometimes I wish I really was a bin.
Trash could fill my surrounds, and in.
******* would be in my mind,
I sometimes I could hope,
that a coin
might land
A graphically pleasing poem written about embodying my alter-ego transformation.
emmie cosgrove Apr 2018
Dear whoever:

To Whom It May Concern:

I’m writing this to let you know-

I can’t-

One filled up bin

One wrecked notebook

One hundred crumpled pages later

My throat is so tight

My hands are bleeding

My eyes are sore

How do I tell them?

Am I too sick to care?

Am I too sick to recover?

“You have so many reasons to live”

Yet those reasons seem to be a fiction you feed to me whilst you write notes down into your leather-bound journal

My head is such a mess that all the wounds in it continue to tear and open

At this point there is no possibility of being stitched up

Rejection after rejection

Loss after loss

I felt hopeful for 2 hours earlier today and then got an email reminding me that I am just not quite good enough

“So when is the last time you genuinely felt happy”

Maybe it was when I was 7 or 8 and sat on the grass building make-believe worlds the suns gentle warmth pressed lightly against my back, knowing I could cry and people would listen because I was young and still had so much to learn

I long for that blissful naivety of being young

And though I know I am still young (ish) , I am not young enough

And so many people stripped me of my youth way too soon because being a teenager you’re told to aspire to act grown up which wore me out so much

That those days were still filled with

One filled up bin

One wrecked notebook

One hundred crumpled pages later

I never intended to live this long.
I watch my desktop like my whole life time,
With folders, folding memories,
Files filled with future plans,
Too many codes on my wall paper,
I been trying to hide my self in face of my family.

Clicking the recycle bin has been a religion,
I worship pictures of my ex.

There is a reason why they are in the bin,
Which happen to be a recycling one.

Its like digging a grave to give CPR to bones, call me Ezekiel.
Nylee Jul 2017
The bin is full of tissues
One for each issue
And this last one remains in the box
As no tears flows
Feeling alone
Laying forgotten
With nobody known
it needs a tissue too
to solve its issue.
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