The Meal

Suits reflected on my glasses
Who are they, people I can't see through
Handing me dinner, smiling every five minutes
As if it would keep us
from being pale or crude
I forgot to bring my masks
Is it the same watchword once again
"to the winner, the scraps"

"I don't care", eyes whispering to mine
On the table, sweet pastry from my dreams
watches silently
As our killing begins

The scraps, the winners, the sugar
it's all nothing but untasteful, bitter speech
if it were for my own eyes
I'd be light years out of reach
So, through time it shone
and as tears try to rampage out stretched eyelids
the fright to realize
understanding is long gone

So long, everyone
This average person finally leaves
I miss you here, swiftly brushing my hair
and think of the sheet music left behind your shade
Is it only fair that it was never played?

To still live under that almostness
and the failure to conceive
are the average conditions absorbed with the drink
I took from the suits watching my hands, or even so
As if it would keep me
from being great or mute
Poisoned, there's a long way to go

Sweet autumn sunlight, sweet pastry, plenty of space in the room
and you in my head, still playing that tune