Sometimes I wonder if the pills that I devour have individual lives. Like, livestock. Pillstock fresh from the farms of their pharmacy, taken to the trucks of their bottles and stored in the stores of their weekly containers, until they drop, shivering, sweating cold into my palm like the preverbial first picked pig of the slaughter.
12345678910
In the evening
Four
In the morning
10
In the evening
Four
In the morning
10
in the evening
Four in the morning
And the vegetarians call
THEM
cruel.
Author notes
THEM= meat eaters.
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