Taken quite sick, my queasy amber guts
take on some food--and why? For life's sake.
Feeding that which causes the pain of every day,
is it hunger or eating which causes this frame to quake?
Assimilating bread and dead flesh into my own,
I ponder silently on what might someday consume me.
Gnashing my teeth to break down the substance,
I see that I only contribute to endless entropy.
The flavor of spice is lost in my tongue; a waste.
I swallow that which was raised to be eaten, without taste.
Disdain of my species, I mix it with wine
to inebriate what optimism still suffers inside me,
and hate the feeling of being a human, loathing
the loathsome beings that we refer to as "family."
Their rage feeds my rage. Can we not love? Jesus said...
but to see my family spread filth and foul deeds, I weep.
Dissociation from these, whom I love and despise
I wish to heal them, which fights my wish to simply sleep.
Food and drink wash through my bowels, along with the air that I breathe.
I cannot be alive, I cannot be dead, and endlessly I gnash my teeth.
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