I can afford what kills me.
Proof is the belly pack of fat,
waiting to be spent on a famine
that has yet to arrive.

I cannot purchase the mountain
or the hunt.
Sugar took the will
to climb mountains anyway,
the sweet comes with stupor.
Corpuscles like taffy,
pulling fat out of air
to patch myself with.

Time is the highest currency,
it pays for the subscriptions
that forgets each hour,
before life is fully spent.

Before something in me
reaches out to clutch
my heart tightly.

Like a troglodyte
grabbing a wriggling fish
from a clear shallow lake.

01/26/2021

Posted on 01/26/2021
Copyright © 2021 Johanna May