in a table, we sit

we all laugh, we all sin

the dish is regrets

and the plate is all but pretends



the fork is the spoon

and the glass was filled too soon

so we drank bottles of fantasies

mine was you sitting next to me



the knife holds anger

and you sit across me

should i cross the line

and stab you to wake?



pain is our water

and we can't live without it

so i stood up and pondered

"when will we start the feast?"