There he is, the wealthy man. He sits on the bench awaiting his carriage to relish in the gifts he bears. A treasure trove filled to the brim with another mans life. A life of ease, and a world without disaster. A slumber tailored peace.

 

The suitor says it’s all his size today, come take a glance. The smell doesn’t bother him, it's merely his natural warning.

 

A life of wealth no man can steal, no man can possibly want, or need. Then there's me, the one who stares in disgust at his opulence, his freedom, his comfort in discomfort.

 

Why can’t I be satisfied? I wonder...

 

Why should I always be so troubled, so tired?

 

Sleep, to sleep just once, without a visitor. Polite, violent visitor...

 

Perhaps tomorrow is mine, for I want it, so desperately. But then again I can barely swallow today.

 

As he throws another gift into his basket, my belly fills with a tight ache.

​

There he goes, the wealthy man.