Seriously, what stupidity.
Microwaves and ovens don't clean themselves.
I should know, I never eat.

Honestly, leave me to my crusty heartaches.
The wrestlers on TV mimic the dramas inside me:
it isn't real.

My hopes are torturous melodies; I want to gouge my eyes out.
I'm trying to hastily unstrangle them from me.
It's like untangling a wind chime in a steady breeze.
While I'm busy saving my eyes,
I'll see that

it's about time
I take a punch in the face,
that I look out through a black eye.

It's about dinner time!
Put a cold steak on my fresh wound
and put in the frozen food;
press five and wait.

I'll accrue a wealth of stained misery.
We're only strays.
Last edited by Martyr's Prayer at Mar 23, 2013,