saccharine verses coats my palate;
a waxy mouthfeel that one grows
accustomed too, but like turmeric
it stains every word that rolls
of the tongue. limiting technicolour
to rosy shades of amber.
you nock words in anger
and by the time you let loose,
the bowstring breaks, and
your words cool again
to amber.
you search for something tangible
to break the ennui but only
manage to shatter yourself
into a thousand more shards.
so you scrape the honey off
your tongue and glue them
back in place, attracting predators
to lap up the saccharine parts of
you that you could no longer bear.
but it’s okay,
those wounds will crystallize,
and your tongue will be
coated in another layer
of something saccharine
