Sociology

I can do nothing

We who are always filled; all we want is more. Satisfaction leads to the birth of new hungers that we didn’t even know existed, we become unsure if they'll ever be filled.

The little children who waddle across my television set, bloated bellies intensifying the look of Hunger, with wanting eyes look into me. I sniffle
At commercials. I obey them, give what I want for myself. Though love is given in dainty little checks for twenty-four dollars, I am a hypocrite. I myself couldn't give anything so base a need as food, and with that, the needs pile onward, sprouting branches of more brittle want, hungry and angry want.

Would you give up one meal a day to give it to another? Or would you allow the responsibility to diffuse among all of your peers, eyeless and earless strangers who along with you shut out empathies breached over shallow water. Shallow swells that lull us into impotent emotion.
I can do nothing, I say. Myself, simple microcosm of a capitalist world, where hunger grows with each meal, giggle on the valium. The valium-like spreading of a grin, after a good meal, after seeing my heart resting on a plate in a store.