You with the swiss cheese stomach perforated by demons.

Your gut a prison to villians

Sentenced by the heroes of your mind

For their crimes against your heart.

You who stands amongst and audience of tables

Gazing at the pimply face of a disinterested teen who groans,

“What do you want?”

You who stands in contemplation–

The scent of sauce and seasoning striking against prison bars,

Rousing your inmates.

Their violent pangs an insatiable black hole–

Ever-expanding, never filled.

You who craves the fullness of a well conducted concerto,

Yet orders for an empty ballroom

Echoing a single silent sonata.

“What do you want?”

A large pepperoni pizza.

One large order of wings.

And a two-liter Dr Pepper.

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