Fed Fat by Jonathan Moon

Fed fat on name-brand lies and the toxins distort my perceptions. I hear the clanking of the gears, and the metallic wisdom comes with the tang of blood dripping from my ears. My fists are clenched, my voice is gravely, and my soul is a muddled mess. What is real, what is right, what is profitable? 
I hear ghosts from the past- laughing and jeering, and voices from the present sound like robot curses. They tell me the truth, the truth I know, 'We are the Romans.' And we feast like the Romans, on rotten meats and rich fats. We gorge and purge, we swallow it all down. Hope tastes so cynical, but it washes down the sour of Doom.
 My stomach hates it all, and knots and groans its disapproval. No time to vomit, yet another spoonful for my eyes, ears, soul. A flood of rumor and mis-truths we swim in, we drink in, we drown in. I put on my War Face, and slam my spear into the ground. For God. For Country. For my Masters and their Masters before them. 
I misdirect my aggressions and prides. I'm fed fat on name-brand lies.



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