"Tremendous trifles of truffles galore!"

Tumultuous traffic fills the rage within

But the hand that which causes gore

Stuffed the stomach 

Of that hand

Which unwrapped

And littered the ground

The pile that had once started from the floor

Is now knee high in guilt

Guilt that is not felt for the right reason

But for gluttony of ones wanting

Want more, want thin, want taste, want money

Must want

Always want

Until want is replaced with need

Need more, need thin, need taste, need money

Must need

Always need

And within this transition

The root of the word need is lost in the pile of wrappers

Now up to the height of their shoulders

When needs arent met, blood is shed

The hand at which only feels guilt for the fat it eats

Leaving the spit that was spat in our faces sticky and fresh