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Friday, 18 November 2016


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.

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