the starve hive

the starve, crumbs rummage, mingle with rodents as you pick through the refuse. eat the dead. smile at the empty plate and quell your pallate with a dash of salt, a hint of blood. mold is growing all over our provisions. we are stranded, calmed by the dead of winter. held in the bosom of treachery. obligated to our loneliness. this should have never happened. Food bank pillaged. Crosscountry refrigerated cargo pirated and sold at more than ten-times its' value. infested with fleas. finally we remember what sickness smells like, what rotting flesh tastes like. our water reeks of fuel runoff, we shower in car exhausted in the lowlands. too hopeful for you? well, we both the pages of this note and sip the soup. Instantly, it makes us vomit. Please, sir...