Crowds past like the days,
A maze of thoughts bombard.
I grit my teeth until I taste blood.
It’s a struggle, every day,
To look at slabs of walking meat,
And not take a bite.
To want to hear the screams,
And feel the blood running,
That flesh and fear exposed.
Its days like this I wonder
Why did I decide to become a masseuse?
Cafe Reading 