Disposable

I am utterly disposable; a bubble gum wrapper, a snowflake in a jar.

My mind is a semi-vacuous haven for butterfly thoughts with short shelf-lives and cobweb creations which fall apart at the touch.

My debates are half formed and ill thought out. My sentences fade away into nothing, their point having been lost on the air. My inner music is shiny, plastic, over produced nonsense and the synthesizers have drowned out the beautiful cacophony of guitar and piano.

I am wasted and wasting disposable babble and all I really wish to dispose of is this in itself.