#bin
I bin billions...
I bin the idea I’d sink and burn
I bin men with no discernment...
Or taste but no measurement
I bin freedom if it’s flawless...
And men too tired to learn this
I bin all this.
I bin birth.
I bin the thing that makes it hurt -
So I try to bring thirst...
Drive this doubt into the dirt
And stir this thing into reverse...
—burning sweet these silver birches,
Stepping glassy eyed in churches,
Growing curved through the highest steeples,
Opening the eyes of the highest evil...
Seems we finally prove us equal, to elevate one perch
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 6:56 PM UTC
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.
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 11:49 AM UTC
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
Taking the **** 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
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 12:31 PM UTC
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
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:53 AM UTC
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
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
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!
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 5:18 AM UTC
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
inside
.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
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.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 5:22 PM UTC
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.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
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.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 8:39 AM UTC
He is out every 30 minutes,
And puts stuff in his bin,
It's strange that he is out so much,
Just what's he putting in?
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 7:12 AM UTC
The city of Bongwater was a city of sin,
An epic journey of the man who did the bins,
All that binning at 5 am made a terrible din,
Monday mornings in Bongwater's city of sin,
Drive down, bin man,
Drive round the roads,
Sophisticated urban,
Tip those bins down low!
The epic of the bin man in this city of sin,
Driving into parked cars made a terrible din,
"Told you not to park near the bins."
The callous bin man yelled in the city of sin.
This is the epic of the bin man in a city of sin,
Past the schools, he ran over some kids,
"Told you not walk in front of bins!"
Our hero yelled at the rest of the kids,
Drive down , bin man,
Drive round the roads,
Sophisticated urban,
Tip those bins down low.
The epic journey of a bin man in a city of sin,
One day, he hit the water mains with the bins,
Fountains erupted in this city of sin,
Bin man's demolished Bongwater, city of sin,
Drive down, bin man,
Drive round the roads,
Sophisticated urban,
Tip the bins down low!
An epic journey of the bin man, in a city of sin,
Driving into light poles in this city of sin,
"Who needs power?" he yelled above the din,
Driving around Bongwater's city of sin,
Drive down, bin man,
Drive round the roads,
Sophisticated urban,
Tip those bins down low!
This is the epic of the city that didn't pray,
One day the bin man rolled their bins away,
That was the epic of our hero of the bins,
Driving round Bongwater, that city of sin,
All that binning made a terrible din!
Drive down, bin man.
Drive round the roads,
Sophisticated urban,
Tip those bins down low!!!
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
I wrote him a note
That said,
I am leaving.
And he tossed it
To the bin
And said,
I must be dreaming.
F.Z.N
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
Writing the words
the emptying
of my emotional recycle bin
I pour them out
with intent to demolish
to remove the evidence
the unwanted remembrance
the devastation
that threatens to unravel my sanity
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
throwing papers
up in the air
everywhere
wonderful bliss
4 years for this
I miss you now
we talked about how
this would be us
kissing
throwing it up
not giving a ****
i don't give a ****
i really don't
graduating next week
and i pretend to be sad to go
it really doesn't matter
ill walk and ill bow
ill get my diploma
i really don't know how....
I got the papers from the recycling bin
it says a lot doesn't it
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC