Internal turmoil over these inequalities, over such disparities. These beasts are eating me alive. They come with fury, to dig out my insides – eyes, heart, intestines, until I’m empty. A walking skin and bones interacting with the menacing dark skies like green pastures. Held together by the stretch of skin that knows no pain, no hunger, only privilege. To pretend is to laugh, while walking on time bombs in stilts. Do they not know? Do they not care? I sink deep into my skin, where it’s comfortable, where I’m free, where I’m accepted, despite being me. You see no beasts, you know no fear, you see only you versus me, stretched out thin. The prize? Your feast.

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