food for thought

my stomach’s

a cracked vase

you’re filling up

with casket nails

.

i plead that i’m

already full but

you pretend to

not be fooled

.

my mouth fills

up with blood

but at least i will

not be thirsty

.

i’m getting used

to the taste of ink

and the aftertaste

of coppertone rusty

.

my stomach’s

a cracked vase

and the flowers

have long died

.

but if you’re still

curious, then go

ahead and check

whatever’s left inside.

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