There once was a guru of Ind
Who fasted and rapidly thinned:
     They offered him Gogurt:
     He said, "That's not yogurt!"
And broke—in disgustedness—wind.

There once was a man from Montana
Whose favoritest butter was canna:
     He'd spread it on hotcakes
     (Which made of them potcakes),
And add some Nutella and banana.

In the summer,
everything is ripe
The white peaches perfume the air
In my hand, their fuzz
like the vellus hair
Around your neck

It’s winter now
And the fruit has shrunken
The flesh has grown leathery
The sugars concentrated
I put one in my mouth
And felt your hardened ******* on my tongue

Tip Tap Tip Tap Tip Tap Buzz Buzz Ring
Dancing light filters through the balcony
Drifting through the choppy air twirling
Another leaf drops onto the concrete
Brought by the feather of a small bird
Chirp Chirp Chirp follows a telegram’s
Stringing words racing to the finish line
To grow beside you nurturing the mind
Then your stomach by a thousand leaves
Eat the love you poured into the ground
Watching it blossom into a giver of life
Now returned is your efforts multi-fold

I don't think I'll have an appetite for tomorrow babe,
You just make me hungrier than lunch.

When you kiss me I sip on your divine wine,
When you hug me I burn up in fires of my desires.

So I just have a wee little hunch,
I'll be more interested in your menu, than picking at my food.

I sit down at a restaurant,
A burger's my order;
Ambitious is the chef,
Never seen anyone bolder.

She works her magic on the bun,
The sauce is sweet and sour.
Crispy lettuce, on it
A meat patty full of power.

She is taking her time to craft,
And so I wait an hour;
My hunger consumes me:
There's nothing I couldn't devour.

Done at last, a thing of beauty,
Starving, I take a bite;
It's flavor outstanding,
Feels like I could even take flight.

It is not a flawless sandwich,
Filled with imperfection:
Burnt here, too salty there;
Still feels like I'm tasting heaven,

Halfway through, I take a big bite,
A mistake way too great:
The burger falls apart;
My ambition lead to my grave.

Life is just the façade of plastic – plastic money; currency crafted
from synthetic dreams, one's plastic love; affections moulded in
artificial forms. Too much of the latter; a toxic one's greatest trait.

Plastic taste; threads of regret cling to my teeth – my palate’s
insides churns; the words of people made of plastic bullets; still
their weight hurts.

Gazes of a select few friends resemble patient crows, observing
the burdens you bear in a plastic bag of your baggage. A course of
those processed foods; processed natural flavours – sprinkle a little
more sugar to add weight to that plastic container.

“You don’t really match my flavour,” I wouldn’t know how it
really tastes – my heart; I’d love to give you a taste, but it’s often
filled with so much hate. And as I try not to break what holds my
food for thought; I keep my dreams on a plastic plate.

But even plastic breaks, just with the right weight.

So tell me, why are you trying to carry the weight of the world?

Woe upon me this day of ruin
Fraught with not but anguish
Scattered across this unhallow earth lies pieces of my marred soul
Who be I to see the rise of another sun?
To go on and remake what is lost?
Witness these salted channels form valleys down my face
Taste the despair of a hollow gut
Hear the grumble of my essence tear itself apart
**** the creators
Blast the makers
Couldn't they have worked with sturdier stock?
Burden once grabbed unraveled
Writhe along the floor like the worm I am
Nothing in this life could bring joy again
The bite of rope filling my throat would only begin to satisfy