The grocery shop wants to eat me
but cons me into thinking that it’s
me who wants to eat.
It wants to gobble my money, chew
the notes, crunch the coins,
melt credit and debit cards into a
warm gooey drink.
It wants to bite lumps out of my
heart and soul,
eat fingers and toes like goujons
and suck on my ribs.
But it’s my mind it really wants, a
recipe of thoughts,
habits, desires, needs, wants, drawn
through a straw.
A milkshake brain, grey and
seemingly unappetising,
slurped, drained of everything I
know or think I know.
I get extra points on my loyalty
card and I think I win
but another little piece of me is
added to the file.
I get vouchers for money-off next
time, coupons disguising
fish hooks snagged on my skin to
haul me back in.
The grocery shop knows me better
than I know me.
The grocery shop wants to eat me.
The grocery shop wants to eat me.
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