sugar, you make my
taste buds pop and bleed
cherry(red) that sizzles
and dribbles along my chin.
i catch the drops on
shredded fingertips ((the
razor was double-sided
and the damage just as
twice)). the lipstick(red)
stains my palms and
the scent of l.o.v.e. ((or,
rather, sugar-turned-blade))
is what i shove up my
nose; it's comfort, it's solitude,
it's cigarette burns, and vodka fucks,
and burning christmas trees. now,
sugar, don't play me the fool
and say that you l.o.v.e. me –
what you crave is tender
womanflesh pressed against your
equal womanbreast and as we
arch our cloudy backs we
whisper "pretty baby doll, you
are my favorite tragedy."