If anything is to eat me alive
Let it not be anger
Let it not march across my face like wrinkles will,
Leeching me away like time never can.
Let love eat me alive instead
Let me breathe
Knowing that’s always been enough.
An audience of thousands or an audience of one,
When it’s time to pay the bill, it will only be me,
Standing by the register,
Handing money to the Reaper.
Maybe he’ll say, “Was it a good meal? Did you like your time here?”
“It was the fucking best.
It was my life.”
– Sara Myriad