cake.
the sweet taste of spite
baked in your red velvet eyes;
the sprinkles of hope
coated in pretty white lies.
a slice of perfect fantasy,
but its burnt and undercooked.
the crumbs of your words
so loud but overlooked.
caked in frosted blood,
the scent as lovely as a dream;
the oven counting down
for the taste of perfected esteem.
these layers of untruths,
hidden under icings of fear;
your words wont affect me,
if i cannot hear.
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