I grab at them, hopeful for the density and meaning they will fill me with
But the words are deceivingly flaky and useless
They fill me with air and air alone
The more I consume, the more I desire
But I don't care about much anymore
So I eat them up nonetheless
And shrug off the bitter aftertaste
and the total comprehension and complete understanding that comes with it
and walk around wide-eyed and innocent
as if I don't know exactly what I'm doing.
