Sugar bleeds from the side of your lips
Your palate is perverted
The artificial blue light rays into your brain
You’re a kid in a candy store, you can’t touch.
Your hands are covered in frosting, you’re pathetic
You groan at me, Is it anger?
You nod as your head is filled up with my sounds, and you hate it.
Scraping the sides of your bowl, You moan out, “Too sweet!”
As if anyone wants to hear you.
You look down at your hands, you hate yourself
But I’m too sweet, aren’t I?
So you open your computer again.
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your vision, your voice