To My Dad

To my dad I see screams, hear hunger I see growth I see black heaps, sticky, dark glistening material in my bloodstream. Filling my heart and head. I see human I see constructed, I see under eternal development, I see self-help for the first world I hear academia, I hear growth And fear Fear of not listening to my dad who tells me that life is hard, bound up in cortisol, at least in the first world Fear to not be a part of the wheel, of the culture and of the cortisol that binds us so beautifully together Desperation dressed in a metallic, cold body. My time of full coverage mac foundation Push me further to the edge Push me further from the freedom in my existence. Push me into the adrenaline rush that slowly becomes cortisol, no longer a rush, but a constant, heavy pulse, rooted in my body. Manic Compulsive masturbation The heavy, pulsating, wet, dark heap, cortisol Producing the product Complicated, intricate For the first, the third, the world above and the world below I have sisters that receive advertisement catalogs with plastic in the mail, product that costs 3 hours of cortisol And i have children who work as child soldiers, prostitutes. Work on massive, towering plastic mountains. Product. I see screams, hear hunger Anxiety, plastic, depression, growth, producers, product. But I feel nothing