Bin Shut Down

Shut down.
No inclination to clown around.
Bin shut down.

Small sound.
Half size and no crowd.

Fight on,
for rare moments of bliss.
Hi-jacked by memories of uselessness.
Too long in this.
Bin shut out.

Will it end in a whimper,
beyond the ears of absent strangers that despise the toil of weakness.
Will there be a remembrance, 
a semblance of dignity for a life less than expected?

The advice from the well of meaning,
screaming to have their bleating heeded.
Despite not knowing what fear rains inside.
Cannot run,
cannot hide.
Bin shut down.




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