The edge of the bin

tell me,
am i wicked?

is it my recklessness that you shun?
is it my wickedness that makes me so unbecoming?

tell me,
am i wicked?

does the stench i exude alert you of my presence?
does my aura reek of rot and despair?

won’t you tell me,
am i wicked?

for my cravings have found themselves at the bottom pile of your priorities.
priorities? why must i continue in this naivety?
for even priorities, have some esteem attached to them.

no. my cravings have found themselves torn and crumbled,
tossed over your shoulder.

for a second, they teeter – on the edge of the bin,
almost as if – in one final desperate attempt to refuse their fate,
but even a second comes to an end,
dejected, the fall…

to where they belong.
to where they must remain.

tell me,
am i wicked?

***

Inspired by:

…but he refuses to satisfy the craving of the wicked.
– Prov 10:3


For the love of Calvin & Hobbes…contact

** Images source: Google Images

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