They are
talking
snapping
itching
scratching
hard
they go
latching
onto anything
that helps them
to forget
not one
of them
is really happy
being
alive
being
anything
anywhere
anymore
they all
roam
sob
shamble
spend and
spend
and
spend
and
complain
these
poor fools
these
starving ghosts
thinking
praying
believing
they could
actually
buy life
back
and death,
it comes
with them
never
recognizing
never
realizing or
understanding
the sheer
simplicity
of it all
they die
they go
never
knowing
how
they forged
their chains
they bound
their wrists
they cut
their throats
themselves
(Originally published in Provoke)