Allow me this instance
The emptiness within
Ever so binding,
Ever so winding
Through the innards of my soul.

Blackness does dance through a valley of mimes
All pantomime
Piffle, pablum,
All those who have them
And have-nots.

Bereft of humanity and a meal in your hand
Things you can’t stand
Things in this land.

Bland like potatoes and rice, fried potatoes
Meat in a breaded environment!
Milk as thick as ice

(sorry no picture for this one)