The Planet's Weight

We used to feel the planet’s weight inside our stomach:
Guts squirming with millennia and dreams of sugar.

The eighteen-year-old truth god hates his dreams of sugar,
Prescription pills lodged holy in the throats of martyrs.

One thought is all it takes to slit the throats of martyrs,
It’s crazy but it’s easy to be free that way.

It’s crazy and it’s harder to escape that way:
Omnipotent, we swallowed blood-red caviar sunsets.

Omnipotent, we swallowed every rich delusion,
Metabolising sickness into vacant joy.

Metabolising sickness into our survival,
Still hungry for the sweetness of a mother’s love.

Addicted to sharp fragments of our mother’s love,
We used to purge the planet’s weight as saltwater.

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