When hunger subsides,
I’m *****.
After I *******,
I’m thirsty
I can never feel
ok with just sitting.
If I’m not entertained,
I’m a slave to my
head  where all I want
is to quickly digress:
A new distraction
A new reaction
A new way of living.

I tell myself drink
water and be stoic,
but changing taste.
is my addiction
I can’t even enjoy
that nice feeling before...

I’m worrying about
acquiring the next.
A haste of comfort and confinement —
when will I tire of it.

My vision is blurry
and I’m happy
and everyone knows it.
The kitchen’s a mess,
but smells like heaven
My throat is closing
and the mucus is drowning me.
I wonder what condition afflicts
me, but keep on singing...

Anyways.