06.10.2019 ink&rage excerpt
Squatted down, plucking someone’s forgotten change sprinkled on the sidewalk.
Snagging leftover bread from the kitchen like the scavenger the world’s rules have shaped me to be.
Eat when you can get your grubby hands on anything somewhat edible.
Good luck enjoying any of it.
When you’re stuffing your face at race pace,
To a shrunken stomach that’s
Too full of a drop to shout “when!”
My body hardly processes food anymore.
I don’t look it yet.
It’s never what it looks like…
People complementing my tan legs---
---I’m scratching my flaky skin.
Flash ‘em a white toothy grin--
---I’m rocking back and forth, nursing a cigarette.
The ash from my skin, the ash from my cig,
Flutter together in a death dance to the ground, as I stare off in no particular direction.