Eat Poorly

Their visions look past the morning dew.
Their dreams cloud the decayed stew.
I told them not to eat a bite.
Their choice is to jump into the food.

They tried to fight, cooking with decay.
Their morning sun roasted them in their own tray.
I told them not to sit out all night.
They are fools who never listen anyway.

With clammy hands, olive eyes, they masticated the food.
No respite is handed to them as they incessantly chew.
I told them they will devour theirselves.
Their own memories they consumed.