Alas, Here Come the Hypochondriacs to Wait With You in the Lobby - The Locust

Drained blood from your own spine in a trophy

Dead skin cells drip charity crumbs

Biting the hand that feeds

Deemed an unhealthy meal

When slipping on someone else’s elbow grease

Gurgling devices loose their appetite

Mirages seem to commission blame

While pointing the finger cracks the mirror