Consume (Inochi no Tabekata Ref.)

The way we consume,

is one way I could describe the way a sour stomach might churn and twist from eating something foul.

Because every day the life within humanity eats the same old rancid bowl.

Decay, conflict, inner and outer intricacies dance with the line of moral balances. Here we might come to consume, to consume the outer things while our worldly being eats from the table of poison.

Nothing can save me from within, from the moral decay I'm in.

There is one way I could describe it. The way that humanity makes me feel like I'm tearing myself apart to live within it, when I am just as much it as it it is me.

We break bread over a broken filthy table, eat, and eat from the food we pull from within.

The spoils of war, the spoils of all from glittering inedible apples of foam to the heart retching screams of those behind walls.

We are the eaters,

the ones who dress this table with our fruits born of poison.

Is there no place where we don't all taint the ones we bring to our dinner?

Or is dinner the place where we carve up and open the things that were never meant to be there?

Hell. I think I might have been on the table, once or twice.

Have I spilled enough innocent meat to spoil it all? Or is it customary to serve each other rancid meals?

But we consume, consume in the ways that make us all very poorly ill.

Where is the sake of morality when humans live for the thrill? For the forks we slam butted ends to tables, marking and marring the wood.

Are we all but fickle beings, of flesh and bones until we fall to the wicker wood?

"Burn the corpse,

eat the flesh."

Either way, it all looks so unreal from behind the glass,

of the house made with plastic.

And I might put my eyes to the outside, and stare from within,

wondering how I managed to sneak away from the poison table.

Because where within, within me rots, the parts I cannot get back...

The parts where the public all dined in.

On my bleeding body,

Where all would.