Gimme

His fingers are fat And under his stomach his Belt holds on for dear life. His dress clothes from work, His cubical job, selling bullshit for A living. The world owes him in his mind, He sits there in his chair. ‘I want a bigger TV. I want a cake. I want a new chair. I want a new phone. I want a dog, A cat, A shirt, New shoes, Leather couch, Lots of money, And lots of women. I want the world and they should give it to me.’ Hated by his neighbors. Unlooked upon by women, Disowned by co-workers. He lives, alone, not Paying for anything. Not trying to make any more money Not going into the world. He can see the TV, the chair, The dog, he can see the cake Looming in the distance. He’ll never get it, He’ll never deserve it. Kid with a wife that he no Longer knows. Escaped one Trap. Now dying in self-inprisonment.