Garbage

Right under your nose, she tells me that I'm empty.
Nothing left but an empty shell to differentiate the longing from the calling.
Just a chirp to let you know that this bird is still blue.
Just a peck to remind you the order's in disarray.

Right before your eyes, the sky explodes.
Not before the sand fills your eyes and it burns
straight through your retinas, this circular machine
is all that's left of a forgotten fever dream.

Right wing gets broken, left forever with a crutch
and my tipping scale got bent and I ended up dutch.
No home to return to, no lease to renew
just a pacifying placeholder in seeds that never grew.

This crocodile smile looks more like a twerp smirk
and the reaction I expect is more so an open casket.
I'll take out the trash if you replace the bag.
Coordinating with garbage can be such a drag.