My stomach is always one jump behind
My flapjack rolls of fat
Flip up and down on a summer like afternoon,
Each roll of over-eaten sweets and treats
Drip in my syrupy sweat.
I am just a mess of batter
Burning red on a pan-frying trampoline.
Rice, spam, eggs, and beef,
Three biscuits, all honeyed up
I hit the giving tarp
My stomach heaving downward
Falling over my short’s band
Painfully pulling my heart toward hell
And under my feet there is a black hole.
Kids are tossed in the air,
One points back down to the earth
And falling into orbit he says
“Look how he shakes like Jell-O!”
I scream, but nobody hears me