Blade

Shaken inside the juice
Knew the laughter was hilt and fake
Sitting at a table
Open and loud
Thoughts I have inside never to be spoken
Wounded if anyone knows
Who is in my mind
What I am doing there

Garish dance of macabre plates
Taken from meals of those who have done and who have not
Try not to think of starvation
Try not to think of those who suffer
Like every day
Wondered if anyone cares
Who is in my mind
What I am doing here

Empty places and full ones
Made of night and day
Buss your own tray
It’s now the time
Blade in my hand

I cut into my food

Will it ever give me pleasure?

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