Trash Can

I feel like a trash can. No; I am a trash can. I am equivalent to a fucking trash can. Do you know how it feels to be a trash can? To feel like your soul purpose in life is to be people’s waste receptacle. I envy the recycle bin- the one that can take trash and transform it into something beautiful again. Me? No. I take trash and hold it as such. I don’t cover it up to be anything other than what it is.
I stand at the side of the road- unnoticed until someone needs me. There is no spotlight for me. I never receive affection, nor do I ever move to try. I am accountable for one thing: to carry the shit of the same dull people day by day. Everything is slower, the days grow longer, and I am left to watch the sunset alone. I glance at couples and lovers sitting on benches falling for each other while I stand there silent, refusing to let the stench of my failure get a hold of me.