goin on a date with my plate full of hate.
my stomach turns at the sight of the thing.
it looks just like the back of my mind.
seeing it close up almost leaves me blind.
a fork made of fire.
a knife made of drugs.
it seems as if im staring straight.
into the face of my nemesis.
as it begins to wrap itself slowly around my point in time.
i feel the smoke seeping through my face.
into the backest blackest part of my brain.
so with a fork made of fire.
and a knife made of drugs.
i force feed myself.
on a plate full of hate.
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