My bones are filled like licorice
and my brain is marshmallow
under heat.
You're eating away at me.

You shake off little scraps of self
that I follow, grasp with two hands.
You leave enough to make me wonder,
but not enough to understand.

And from my sugary lips,
a thousand sweet requests,
trying to drown the bitterness
and keep the sour repressed.

But you're coating my skin,
dulcet and sickly and heavy
and all that's left of my sweet intent
are the bugs nibbling at me.