You must be made of bitter stuff
How else are you able to sting so much ?
The very tongue I thought was made of honey
The fingers that stopped my rattles
Are spears, dipped in vinegar
And you pour it into my wounds
Like I’m a newspaper full of fries.
Lies. LIES. Lies.
You undermined everything with spiralling secrets.
And now I can’t see the sky for the trees
The love for the pleas
The never ending clockwork circle
I’m wound up.
Turning like a silly soldier
Into the fire but no little tin heart.
Just a puddle where I was once a thing
For you to play with then burn.