Neglect
by Michael R. Burch

What good are tears?
Will they spare the dying their anguish?
What use, our concern
to a child sick of living, waiting to perish?

What good, the warm benevolence of tears
without action?
What help, the eloquence of prayers,
or a pleasant benediction?

Before this day is over,
how many more will die
with bellies swollen, emaciate limbs,
and eyes too parched to cry?

I fear for our souls
as I hear the faint lament
of theirs departing ...
mournful, and distant.

How pitiful our “effort,”
yet how fatal its effect.
If they died, then surely we killed them,
if only with neglect.

Keywords/Tags: neglect, starving, dying, perishing, famine, illness, disease, tears, anguish, concern, prayers, inaction, death

"Even today, I have a lot of trouble figuring out if I’m hungry or not. I often can’t tell until I’m starving. I don’t trust those little inklings of hunger I have before the starving stage, since anything outside of mealtime is supposed to be quelled by a ******* piece of fruit.

Over time, [I was taught] that I should decide what to eat with my brain, not my stomach. So eventually, my stomach just gave up."

dear reader,
will you please help me?

i am starving!

whoever you are
wherever you are
whenever you can:

feed me with money
don't you worry about ostensible risks for yourself your soul or your body:

rumors. spread by liars
who dare to call me a drug

truly, i'm starving for you.

sincerely
your favorite substance

I'm hungry, but I can't eat.
I'm tired, but I can't sleep.
I'm sad, but I can't cry.
I'm suicidal, but I can't die.

They'll check your wrists,
But not your thighs.

They'll hear your laughs,
But not your cries.

Smile much, laugh loud, make jokes and lies,
And they won't see the depression in your eyes.

Just keep calm and starve yourself,
You need to be pretty, forget about your health.

Go look in the mirror on the wall,
We need to be skinny, thin, and tall.

Another cut upon your thigh,
One step closer to goodbye.

Cakes, cookies, cheese
Oh can I have them please
Burgers, dogs, fries
I can’t live with all these lies

Friends, fakes, foes
Oh what I’d do for some ** hos
Mascara, lipstick, eyeliner
I wish I was in a greasy diner

Short skirts and high heels galore
I’m starting to look like a *****
They say they’re worried of my composure
They are the reason I changed my figure

Skin and bones they say
But they said I was the size of a sleigh
I did this for them to make them happy
But here I am unhappy and former fatty

The truth is
what once was yellow brick road
is now red from blood
blotched by dirt
and partly
covered in moss

I see no purpose nor hope
in following this particular road
that leads me back to a place
so called 'home'

It's rather unpromising
and untempting
unwelcoming even
And it makes me think;

At the end of the road,
will I be left to rot
by the people who once swore
that I will be loved
but would leave me standing
forsaken and starving
like they used to do

And so I'd rather stay in Oz
Then to follow the 'yellow brick road'
To get to a place where
I were to be ignored