Indulge Me.

I smile, oh so bitter-sweet.
like sugar on scones,
like salted cupcakes,
like pouring gasoline on flower-fields,
at least you'll have a nicely smelling hell.
(do burning flowers smell nice?)

I blink, oh so guilty-cent.
like a bloodied pacifier,
like a body in my locked room,
like hugging someone with daggers in your hands,
at least they won't die on their own.
(they'll be buried all alone though.)

I write, oh so many words.
like I'd ever trust them,
like my words would trust me,
like I could ever get them to come together,
at least, maybe, I can make myself to-get-her.
(I all wrighte seem in end to up wrong the order.)