On Sunday morning
Black coffee, marmite, weed:
No wonder they feel weird.
But they need to digest, every waking hour,
Empty mouths must carry and consume—
Just chill, man! Their eyes are roving all over the room
‘Cause if they’re just breathing
They’re empty. Nothing.
Chilli, umami,
Brine, mustard, and baccy
‘Cause if they’re just breathing their mouth is too empty.
You love putting stuff in your mouth, Freud told me,
Whatever it may be,
And I agree.
Not just me, specifically, but all of us humans:
We, philosophically.
It’s in our subconscious so there’s nowt wrong with me…obviously.
Dirty old man, Freud, but he’s right, isn’t he?
Oral fixation: your drug the body
You’ve been on from a baby, chewing through sensation.
Look again, stare, at the person in the mirror,
The smoking, the burgers, the spirit, and mixer,
Are we disgusted? Are we disgusting?
When it feels so good, Freud, no point fighting
This public masturbation,
Our oral fixation,
‘Cause it feels too good to slowly die.
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