Junk Sale

I'm thinning out some things of mine I do not want or need Some for sale some for trade Most of it is free My poisonous relationships They gave me fits and rashes All the bridges that I burned Well, there's the can of ashes Wishes are a dime a dozen Believe me there are plenty You can have my broken dreams And thoughts are just a penny This box of nickels is dirt cheap They're all made of wood A pack of lies that I bought Some are pretty good There used to be some happiness It seems to be misplaced I lost some time that I was given But most just went to waste These mirrors with smoke, a pig in a poke A hook, line, and sinker All came free with my insurance From unscrupulous hood-winkers My policy is "No returns" I hope you'll understand If you're like me then you'll agree This junk's still in demand national poetry competition entry under my pen name "poemdog"