Dog chases after its own tale

Because you better numb that pain
That blunt bout of cramping that gets to you
Alone or in the arms of strangers, 
it tugs at you like the tingly sensation of a sleepy arm.
The pain wraps around your loins with insatiable hunger,
Like a strong craving for deep-fried bacon.
You better numb that hunger before it envelops you
and all that you stand for, or lack in life.
There is no time for loneliness, no more dreaming
because dreams are for folks who live in white towns.
No, these are not for those who stay at home and pray
for the slow miracles to a broken promise.
Everyone is busy, nobody lives in their houses.
So how come you feel for thievery?
You pretend to steal bits and pieces from the living.
You run and you run, you trip and scrape your knee.
You check yourself in the mirror and wash your wounds.
You see the soils eat up your palms, bury seeds and stones,
create craters on the bright side of your face.
It is all illusion, a creative excuse to keep going.
There is no direction.  There is no harvest.
There is no time to do laundry, no time to cook.
No time to eat because you better numb that feeling.
There is only time to numb the pain like everyone else.  
Eyes closed, you imagine that salty-sweet bacon 
enveloping you in its warm, oily, caloric hug.
A tingly feeling that wraps around you like rubber  
the thin kind that's wrapped around a soft sausage.
You take a bite, you swallow without interest.
You imagine it sliding deep inside your throat.
All there is is the rough, grainy texture,
the kind that's so difficult to take in without chewing.