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Twisted words made Saccharine in the hands
of cluttering violent and sick portrayals. Aren't I pretty? Aren't I cute? Aren't I your best friend?
Aren't I the one who singlehandedly fed you my truth yet turned a blind eye with all hands covered from your senses? Priority is first above all you say, as a sacred prayer or ritual you've cycled in overall belief. Mustn't be fed the ‘new' renounced truth or fetching along new tricks. Stripping me down with your tantalizing gaze that decays all significance that you want me to conform to. The anxiety in my throat to my stomach, ridding me of a symptom so heavy I could feel it shake and riddle me from my core. Fear persists once you are near. So I shed this horrific bodily form in front of you, tearing away at skin to reveal the compelling story from my arteries and veins. Am I the prettiest girl you've ever met? Am I your true love? Am I your soul mate at long last? Oh how fickle this came to be! It's rolling downwards and making a home as this amalgamation spurs in and onto myself! Possessing me feeble lonesome from this conformity. A mutt’s sad whimper when it realizes it's been following a fantasy. Yes it's true as you reap and sow. I am the one who'll devour you whole.