“Cry me a river,” you beg.

And so I let my crocodile

Tears run over your cotton

Candy cheeks, puddles of

Artificial sweeteners

Collecting at our feet.

“I am the victim,” you say.

And so I let your honey-stuck

Fingers feel my face, leaving

A rich residue that hardens

Within minutes of your

Characteristic release.

“I deserve pity,” you shout.

And so I let my lips bow

Into an expertly sketched arc.

I place a crown on your head

And let praise drip from my

Cracked lips, “your majesty.”

“Save me,” you demand.

But my mouth is already

Saturated with the sugar

You secrete; my body aches

With calorie-fuelled cavities,

And suddenly, you don’t

Look so appetizing.