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