I Write Because Cake

I write because I feel like a half eaten cake That has made it’s way into the garbage A cake muddled with dirt and soaked In Sunday night’s leftover bacon grease A cake nostalgic about the pink frosted letters, “Happy Birthday”, Yearning to feel the warmth From the glowing candles it once held A cake with no where left to go but the landfill Tossed out to rot, to be picked off by the birds A cake that’s endured such a happy birthday, indeed.