What They Feed On

Consumption of greed lingers in the bellies of ferocious monsters,
and I am confronted with this internal rage that wants to pour its acid onto the skin that these beasts grow in.

I am dumbfounded,
struck by the skeletal hands who wish to strangle the life out of me.

My bed asks for my body.
My food asks for my mouth.

But they,
they ask for me to be weak, to be sullen,
to be cut open and dissected into shapes of rippling destruction.

How dare they destroy the land I walk on,
the soil of the Earth I was birthed from.

This tiresome energy drains into the water I bathe myself in,
and yet, when I dry myself and build myself anew, I am displayed unloved.

They stuff their mouths with privilege,
that slowly suffocates them.

They are building their own coffins,
but only the poor will fill this space.

They are feeding on a type of food
that has become the treasure we are all trying to reach.

I am drenched in this sadness,
that used to be a solace at first.

What They Feed On

But now,
I am weighted by its cloud.

The consumption of greed is their ongoing death,
trying to live is our ongoing war.