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Secondhand Desk

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Shanananaaa

Bacon
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I'm writing this
From a secondhand desk
Secondhand like used
Like done with and tossed
To the next person
For them to write upon
While beaming with pride
At their frugality
Their thriftiness
"I got this desk for $12"
They tell all who visit
All who pretend to care
But don't give a shit
How much they saved
They're here for the wine
The gossip
And the envy
Of penny-pinching interior design
Fit for a magazine
But scrapped by the editor

I'm writing this
From a secondhand desk
Secondhand like used
Like I often feel
About myself
My body is marred
It's that table in the corner
With the scratches and dents
And the hole
Punched in the top
That passers by examine
Wondering if it's worth
The small price tag
And if it would
Compliment their other
Prudent house decor
Or if the scrapes and marks
Will detract from the theme
"Can I upcycle this?
Resell at a profit?"
But there's another table
Couple bucks more
But with less scars
Just chipped paint
That snags their
Tightly clutched wallet paper

I'm writing this
From a secondhand desk
Secondhand like used
Like everything I see
Nothing goes without
Being touched
Not your body
Not your heart
Not your morals or your integrity
It's all secondhand
Rusted and decaying
Tossed in the back
Like the past date meat
The butcher needs to part with
Before the shop stinks
With festering rot
Maggoty decomposition
No one buys meat
From a store that smells
Of spoil
Unless the putrid material
Is out of sight
Out of mind

I'm writing this
From a secondhand desk
Secondhand like used
My pen starts to falter
The side of my hand
Covered in ink
That smudges across
My cheap paper
As I try to finish
Spilling out
These secondhand words
From a secondhand brain
Filled with secondhand thoughts
Before it empties
Like my chest
 
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