It's like an
early,
aching,
eating, tumor.

A tumor acting as pleasure,
tricking the sensors in your brain,
from the age of two or five
and whoring the money out of your pocket,

filling up land-fills in the process
with shiny blue plastic and dolls that smile,
all the way from Laos, China, and Vietnam,
pink and blond hair tangled in rats
millions of children all over the world would love to comb out,
with loving fingers,
their faces buried long in dirt.

Tu veux...tu veux
Tricking your cells into cancer.
Et tu veux plus.

Et plus, et plus
until you're dead

When you're done with your newly-bought items,
you toss them into the plastic receptacle,
located on every corner of the city,
as well as in every room in your house.

But then you somehow, want more.
Qu'est-ce que voulez-vous?

When America is done with you,
you'll find yourself in the dump,
along your beloved trash.

My treasures,
you've consumed yourself.