sour kitchen
a riddle I speak a deathly one a blissful maiden I am you might think gobbled up by a riddle a noisy one full of images whined up against the tides of wars the clashes of the sweet and sour the ticking clock the extra hour that was not yet lived and yet a riddle I speak though my expectations a word is what it is I am no Stein nor am I blissful for one sure thing I am the expected a human in pain