consumption fits our hearts like a glove
and we never give a thought to giving back,
gnawing off the hands that feed us.
—
we sing verses
of someone else's song
that we could not harmonize with.
—
we tread upon
history etched in bones,
snapping what should not be broken.
—
we crush the lungs
of huddled conversation
with haughty belligerence.
—
we wear the crown,
bearing the facade's weight
under hollow pretense.
—
feed the beast no more, be free from chains,
quench your thirst at the fount overflowing
with soft comfort and open arms.