I had legs before the boa constrictor ate them for dinner, and a nose before daylight's saving.
Had cheekbones, a salad fork, and an extra blanket before the dish ran away with the spoon and left me playing rock paper scissors with our waiter who 
just wants a tip on how to balance his tray.

Something inside trying to crawl out of my throat but
     I’m locked                 I want to move I                 want adrenaline           'til  

our waiter runs back to the kitchen fire
I can’t smell burning paper and the scissors are red with heat
something something something something there's never enough to eat
HOLD ON TO YOUR CHAIRS the CYMBAL IS BANGING ON MY CHEST
rude mechanicals live here now (points to throat) 
and hammer with every breath. I

cough up a silk tie it’s grey like my hands, it’s patterned like the walls,
I knew what I wanted to order,
had it all planned out
then the kitchen goes up in flames 
making the air around you all sooty what a shame, 
it was supposed to be such a clear night. 

Napkin girl dares to complain:
they wouldn’t have had what I wanted,     anyways.