Another Version of the Latest Casualty

i am leftovers traded for yesterday's scraps i am in the back of the refrigerator next to the baking soda i am the mood food dude always treated rude the body of my recipe has long since developed a tolerance to it all once upon a time i was famous in your heart your mind wanted to meet me your body wanted my autograph you made me feel confident in ways foreign to both my naked eyes then i became familiar when the views of my ways became fully clothed you then put plastic on my existence and put the mere thought of me in storage when the fresh scent of my love was rediscovered, i was only attractive the transient nightcrawlers i only had myself to talk to and you would only let me out on the twelfth of never i am garbage headed for a land filled with the unsung and the unnoticed i am on top of a pile of many versions of the latest casualty i am a mash of trash treated like an itchy rash in a mad dash the ivory of my decomposition has long since developed a tolerance for it all