Question of the Sinner Stomach

Burning eyes and shallow my breath.
A knocking buzz constant my head.
Revolting against inertia deathly,
Limbs, spine, heart and belly.
The brain begs and begs for mercy.
I put foot down--ever so gently,
"Just a few more hours and we'll be done."
"One last push and this'll be won."
But, we are here, in an interrogation room.
Not being bailed out anytime soon.
Tortured beings out of tired souls,
Bleeding away from minute holes.
Struggling away with a question plum--
"Where's the next meal coming from?"