Sarcasserole

My shirt is crusted over with meals of the past
and my dirty hands are clutching fro one more broken bone

I want a meal of light
But I can’t believe it could be served

It’s just as bitter as it seems
Can’t be surprised by a meal that never tries

grab my rusted spoon and scream,
“Nothing’s as good as it seems!”

My plates an empty hole,
eating my sarcasserole.

Dig in and don’t hold back
Spit on life ’till it attacks
Break through the good to find the bad
Stay satisfied with what I wish I had.

Humble pie, sour grapes, spilt milk and gutless chicken.
Swallow teeth and mud, and smile in the blood.