i do not eat primarily

to survive, but to suffer.

the pieces fall into

a pit-less well

of apathy.


the sides of this columnar

structure is strewn with

squashed identities and

it’s stink is somewhere between an

incompletely dried shirt


and a fart in the bath tub.

some say success is

to eat more than your appetite –

i take this literally

and no – success does not


cower in the dark with shame

or hope to not run into a friend

while getting from the delivery person

to your room.

success does not force feed


calories under twenty minutes

to numb the senses and

trick the mind into believing

that that what occurs

is evidently necessary.


it is unreasonable, i know

it is illogical, i know.

but the beauty of war

is that both sides fight,

and fight hard.


even if

both of





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