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.
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