![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Soufflé
I am a feather light dessert – puff – puff – puff.
Baked to perfection, the scent of cheese sauce
whipped up softly with egg whites folded in.
Watch how my chest expands, filled with mushy
delights and baby, Oh! I am dripping cream.
Pay all your attention to me. Yes, you.
No, not you, you are just the same as me.
I am the sweetest treat sitting here just
waiting for you to pick. Come on, have a spoon.
Taste this super awesome slice of my soul.
You like it. Tell me you like it, a lot.
... I'm picking up a bit of a snarky vibe from you.
I am but another cup on the table;
hurt, broken, slit open, just an ocean of tears.
Will you look at me, please with sugar on top.
Why oh WHY do you have to be such a tease?
Oh No. Oh no. My chest is deflating!
I am running out of... Where is my Romeo?
Come and get me. Come and get me. Come and get me.
Now, now, now while I am still hot, hot, hot.
Afterthoughts...
I read somewhere that people of my personality lead a dual life. Outwardly we are quiet and reserved. However, the image of tranquility masks our secret self – the psycho vigilante. In our secret life we devote all our skills into creating a terrifying arsenal of bizarre weapons to strike fear into the heart of evil.
It is true. This poem is one of my contributions to a better, more harmonious world. The target is an ostentatious, over-emotional nobody who dared calling me “snarky.” She is the epitome of evil. I made this poem to diss her stupid remark, then decided that while I am at it, I might as well diss her melancholic, self-loathing poem.
Shhh... You did not read this.
Baked to perfection, the scent of cheese sauce
whipped up softly with egg whites folded in.
Watch how my chest expands, filled with mushy
delights and baby, Oh! I am dripping cream.
Pay all your attention to me. Yes, you.
No, not you, you are just the same as me.
I am the sweetest treat sitting here just
waiting for you to pick. Come on, have a spoon.
Taste this super awesome slice of my soul.
You like it. Tell me you like it, a lot.
... I'm picking up a bit of a snarky vibe from you.
I am but another cup on the table;
hurt, broken, slit open, just an ocean of tears.
Will you look at me, please with sugar on top.
Why oh WHY do you have to be such a tease?
Oh No. Oh no. My chest is deflating!
I am running out of... Where is my Romeo?
Come and get me. Come and get me. Come and get me.
Now, now, now while I am still hot, hot, hot.
Afterthoughts...
I read somewhere that people of my personality lead a dual life. Outwardly we are quiet and reserved. However, the image of tranquility masks our secret self – the psycho vigilante. In our secret life we devote all our skills into creating a terrifying arsenal of bizarre weapons to strike fear into the heart of evil.
It is true. This poem is one of my contributions to a better, more harmonious world. The target is an ostentatious, over-emotional nobody who dared calling me “snarky.” She is the epitome of evil. I made this poem to diss her stupid remark, then decided that while I am at it, I might as well diss her melancholic, self-loathing poem.
Shhh... You did not read this.
no subject
no subject
And you're from the reading event, yes?