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.