You begged and begged

and now you're ever in their debt -

they'll stretch a net the size of the IMF

to dress your nakedness; then you're fucked

with a corrupt infrastructure.

 

Your coping mechanisms will fracture,

a cheap contractor will copy and paste

your face into a pastiche simulacrum;

the tic and spasm you call culture

will not feature in the sculpture any more.

 

The bitter pills they'll make you take

will only constipate - you'll look much fatter.

Still you won't feel full, there'll be a pull

on your tongue, a hunger for the butt-ends

you scrape out of the gutter just to suck on.

 

You'll need a stick to help you shuffle

to The Shock Therapy Suite

where tourists pay to tap along

to the rhythm of your feet

before you go under.

 

The rest I don't remember.