Junkyards

Feelings like wild flowers   
Grow in the junkyard of my soul
Boxed up leftovers of stinking fears
Puffy-eyed, salty-mouthed sorrows
Ghostly silhouettes of past apologies
Busted tires of anxiety attacks
Body bags of screwed up intentions
Rotten flesh of sweet innocence
Corroded corpses of broken promises
Powerless engines choked up and dead
Mounds of shattered meanings
Windshield fragments of wrecked commitments
Empty bottles of faceless nights
Rusty piles of never-kissed mornings
and dogs, dogs barking angrily at me.