i feel sickened as the plot thickens in the kitchen the broth of nothingness starts brimming and it feels like i’m sinning

FIRST WORLD COUNTRY, YOU’RE LIVING so

i daren’t complain, though i daresay i feel pain, though i feel half a man

i look it

and i feel it, my ribs don’t protrude like you see on YouTube but my head throbs and tightens like laces on shoes –

‘You crazy youth’ / ‘ You lazy yob!’

YoU DoN’t FaZe Me, FoBs, YoU’vE gOt EnOuGh MoNeY wItHoUt WoRkInG a JoB

BUT PLEASE MR MINISTER

i do work a job, i package food that I cannot touch, Tantalus, you hush

BUT PLEASE MR MINISTER

i know you’re in a rush, the stories I tell aren’t just a lie

BUT PLEASE MR MINISTER

children scrape at my thighs, scrape scraps like they’re sent from God on high

MR MINISTER –

we have no dignity to beg. the only glut I have is love, it’s the only weight i can

shed.