He Wished Me the Best

Stand me in the way of a solid wood door
and slam that fucker
right into my face
with an impact
that creates
the kind of destruction similar to an IED explosion

and only when you've picked up the pieces
that used to resemble
a human fucking mess
seal them securely in a zip-lock bag
labeled
"foreign unidentified trash"
meant for Monday morning collection
lest not to create a contagious infection

keep it separate
from the rest of the remains
of your past
for this isn't a case of
one mans trash is another mans treasure

and what makes you think anyone might want what's left of your disaster?