Ah, the whole world in my hands. But
the other hands are so much 
bigger, grip so much 
better. 
The whole world. 
It’s too much, all at once. In my
hands, in my heavy
hands. 
What would I ever do with that much? 
I can’t break it all to pieces and 
pick it out. 
    Have I?
        Can I? 
The world is too big to chew, let alone swallow. 
My ambitions are the starving kind. But, still,
I could never eat the world. 
I’ve never been hungry enough. 
    Or have I? 
I think I’ve gotten used to the hunger. 
We’ve sat and lived and slept and breathed together. 
It gets a little less noticeable the longer you ignore it. 
Or maybe it’s a matter of skill.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
Of course I’m good at it. 
But I can’t eat my own ignorance. 
    Can I? 
Even if I swallow it down, the taste is bitter and
I am not filled. I am not sated. I want more. I want. 
What an admission.
To want. To ignore. 
Who taught me this? The
heavy world in the palms of my hands? 
Oh. My arms are so tired.
I am so tired. 
It’s easier to ignore because it’s harder to do something about it. 
    Is that true?
An easy life. A life where I don’t
starve. A life, a life at all. 
Are you not alive when you eat? Oh,
who doesn’t eat after all? 
The dead. The close to dead. The wishes they were dead. 
Not the living. Eat. 
Eat. 
Where is your hunger? 
Where did you leave it? 
Don’t forget.
Don’t forget. It doesn’t feel any better to abstain. 
What kind of hurt are you looking for?