I've choked down platters of self-loathing and vaguely defined sin,
I've swallowed the stinging comments that are still etched onto my skin,
I'll drain this glass of apathy, and when it fills I'll drink it again,
I tear into the raw flesh of my heart, will this dinner ever end?

Salmonella, salmonella, the doctors say raw meat will make you ill,
But I've been sick inside for the longest time, so I'll be sure to eat my fill,
I still taste the rust inside my mouth when my gaze lingers on a razor,
But final rest is the last course, an earned reward, so set aside that plate for later.

Happiness isn't filling, light and saccharine, empty calories,
So pass me that existential dread, give me something I'll actually eat,
This communion wine has soured, I'll drink from my veins,
Maybe then this hunger will be sated and I can cease feasting on my pain.

Self-sustaining, this repetitive agony, at least I know there won't be any waste,
This meal is eternally bitter, but I've long since stopped eating to taste,
Ceramic shatters on the floor, this never stops, give me more,
Somehow I never bore of this crimson, no matter how many times it is poured.

It takes a human around three minutes to bleed out if you hit a major artery,
I guess I must be a miracle, because I've been bleeding for an eternity,
This is vile, despair's bile, I feel it squirming in my teeth,
Call me a cannibal, but at least now I know to eat.