The saddest steak is on the grill, its juices bleeding and sizzling into the fire. Death never tasted so good as a last meal. You once were admired, until she left when you couldn't fit through the door anymore. The mirror last laughs as your skin runs over the edges. One hand feeds time, the other hand scratches the face of the clock, swallowing the past. As the mirror smashes, the piano keys the car, and pieces reflect the thinner you once again.
-Anthony Liccione
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