no matter how much sugar or honey you pour poison is poison what's dead is gone and cannot be revived the boy with a bite will always leave a nasty mark on the hands you gift him and no one will sweeten the way your corpse rots it's unfortunate to think so but whatever you've mixed at the end of the day is what trails down your throat foolish to believe what's killing you isn't the poison but the sweetness you once poured over and over again into a glass always half full optimism filled prison cell you are blind to think your poison may not be the reason you are coughing up your dignity and dying of his laughter