Just as I breathe life, the life breathes out of me.
It sweeps wooden planks built on stone.
Tiny writing desks are full of disorganized papers.
The room is far away and the outdoor light shimmers.
I see my self push the door outside, open.
In real light once again, I top up my phone with pounds.
Communication replete as a waist's band's love's handle.
I leak rubbish juice onto other Marshmallow Peeps in a meadow.
But I just can't seem to get enough. I'm stuffed.
All As, peace of mind, nice pleasantries, charitable work,
Digestives and The Rustic Stuff. I'm quite full.
I'm hungry. I haven't been eating.
Fed digitally but, it was just an illusion of my hubris.
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