The bell rings, signalling dinner
and you all rush to the table,
sitting where your name is written
in front of an origami swan.
Eight of you sitting face-to-face,
and at the head of the table,
Time herself, in all her glory,
dining on the bones of the dead.

You all share compelling stories
from your own experience;
no tall-tales allowed tonight.
All stories follow the same theme,
how you don’t love anymore,
last broken heart I’ll have,
and Time herself, held in rapture,
dining on the bones of the dead.

You are all told to unfold
your origami swan and read
to yourself what has been written for you.
Don’t let anyone else peek.
Time herself wrote them,
taking great care and effort
to make no mistakes whatsoever,
and Time herself, in a shroud of light,
dining on the bones of the dead.

You will be ****** and plucked
and served as main courses
for the next diners due.
You will submit to her will
and her whimsy desires,
she always gets what she wants,
and Time herself, full and tired,
dining on the bones of the dead.