I want a spoon, sturdy enough to scoop your eyeball out of its socket. Maybe you would see opportunity rotting. I want a knife, sharp enough to slice off your ear. Maybe you would hear the love you forsake. I want a fork, long enough to stab in between your ribs and perforate one lung. Maybe you would feel breathless and face your pain. I want a surgeon, and I want a chef- to remove your liver, serve you on a porcelain plate. Maybe you would taste how foul you have become. - I don't want to bury you too.