Artichokes. 

My brain feels fuzzy 

A teaspoon in the hand 

Removes the choke 

The air I breathe 

Lines my skull 

Scooping out one last thought 

A dying wish a last meal 

A lobotomy over the kitchen sink 

Slop goes down the drain 

The dying wish 

The last meal 

The spoon stuck in the drain 

But you never see the 

Aftermath 

Each leaf pleasantly eaten 

With lemon and butter 

While you imagine the worst 

You never see the aftermath 

A DIALOGUE 

Does it bother you to know that you can’t always know what comes next?

Would you even want to? 

Suddenly no one can hear my voice anymore 

To read a story that’s but a second in time 

To fall in love 

To find meaning or yourself 

Until you stress yourself to death 

And the Slop goes down the drain