i feel
dangerous
as of late
so very tired
of this cage
i feel
so close to
dying from
all the things
i won’t let
myself taste
no amount
of fucking drugs
or music
can hope to
numb what
five minutes
alone with you
could ever satiate
starve the demons
so creativity bleeds
and scrape together
art from the scabs
no one fucking cares
you don’t tour the
kitchen when you go
out to eat you just
want to be disappointed
you’re welcome
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
“you don’t tour the
kitchen when you go
out to eat you just
want to be disappointed”
That’s true and I’ve never thought about that. It’s a strange place to read such analogy in a poem, but it’s brilliantly put.
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