A Lost Generation

He looks beyond the horizon of his belly
To catch up on what’s new on the telly.
He gulps down chips in great big handfuls
Before anyone catches him with his tummy full.
He shrieks his terror in his nauseating voice
And expects to do nothing that’s not by his choice.
His venomous whispers resound on the walls
As he lumbers his huge self like a big bowling ball.
We mourn the early demise of his innocence
And wish he had been given a second chance.

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