Your sweetened breath smells sickeningly of honey.
You're sugar in its purest form.
Add you to anything to dilute the pain.
Bianca, you're kind are only created by the greatest tragedies.
Those kind of heart-tearing nights that bring you the worst in people in a silver spoon,
shove it down your throat,
suck the sugar from your soul,
and replace it with hardened molasses. To give you something to chew on,
so long that you can't speak a word
about that night Bianca.
That when you think about it your throat tightens and you're smothered by memory turned inside out.
From that point you're hopelessly optimistic
Honey-haired and content with your corner of the world your only defense the sugary glaze, coating your eyes, like the tears you don't shed anymore.
Which hides your rotten core, touched by everything evil in this world.
I'm so sorry I can't fix you Bianca, I'm so sorry I can't breathe sugar cane into your lungs.
