you are constantly thinking about Me. Imagining what I might taste like. What My waste might feel like in your mouth, making it's way down your esophagus, til it hits the bottom of your belly. you think about all the ways I can use you. But I don't think about you at all! you're nothing but a waste receptacle. you don't matter. you are empty inside unless I am filling you up My words and with My debris. you are easy to replace. you're not necessary in My life- you're just a porcelain bowl to fill and use.