FROSTING F*UKS UP EVERYTHING

Confessions of a Cupcake Eater

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Frosting. You fuck.
Cake, so yummy warm.
It should be enough!

Yet here you come, a mountain of sugary gloopy-glop.
Ruiner of baked goods with your frosty plop.

The deep sink into your bombastic colored-crazed coating
sends my teeth puckering.
Nerves ache — headrush from the cavity slush.
Lips stained with the juice of safu after each suckering.

Icing death.
Oversweet breath.
Smotherer of tasty cakes — draped in an avalanche of melted flakes.
Sponge so soft, so nice,
defiled by sickly sweet candied ice.

Who made this junk?
A sugar hag living in a polka-dotted trunk.
From what mind did it come — from a clown drunk off of candy-corn-flavored rum?

Maybe clowns vomit frosting just for fun?

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