We sit here
Alone, broken
Bashed into, forsaken.
An eternity we have longed
For the steam of kettle
To turn into a song
And the noisy waterfall
of a fiery hot drink
To Fill our leaking bases
Before we go extinct.
Instead, harsh rain fills us
Every few months or so
And we let it molest us
We have nowhere to go
But we will have our day
We ignore what the commode
And the broken cars say
After all they’re trash
Their purpose long fulfilled
And we’re broken teacups
in a junkyard
Waiting to be filled.

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