ive pruned my emotions for you,
a cafeteria selection,
which one will it be for today?

do you want a serving of anger?
here you go,
that'll be 5 dollars,
"what this isn't anger",
oh sorry, i accidentally gave you guilt,

but there are no refunds,
until tomorrow

i became the fucking lunch platter
i was the expired, fucking undercooked, potatoes

you threw me into the garbage,
half eaten,
and then pulled me out while no one was looking,
and served me to the next customer

only to find out that they had to return the dish,

cause you,
yeah you,
you cooked it,
wrong

you did it fucking wrong,
and you can't face that,
that i'm you're emotional punching bag,

and that that poison
that you're trying to spill onto everyone else?
it's not leaving your saline bag,
until you never fucking realize it

i'm released