Food For Thought

I can swallow my conscience
But it tastes like bullets,
You can guess how well it
Quenches my famished gullet.

I can cut off my voice,
But it feels like a noose,
Suffocating because
I'm too afraid to choose.

Stop playing tricks on me,
Stop pulling my fucking strings.
Stop mindless catering,
And Let me repair things.

I can swallow my guilt,
But I can't swallow my face.
I can break what I've built,
But it won't be erased.

I can swallow my shame,
But I can't swallow my pride.
I can humble myself
Just as soon as I die.

Stop playing games with me,
Stop pulling my fucking strings,
Stop mindless catering
And let me repair things.