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.