• Butter prickle, burnt pecan... Rum raisin in my lemon bomb. Razor blades in my cherry popper, my tongue will be a great cake topper. Neon signs and candy wishes; never see the dying's twitches... I chop you up into pieces, the craving of marshmallows ceases. Take a lick, I see you swirl... Oops I guess I thought you were a girl. Wear my heart, leave the stitches, black licorice kisses are saved for bitches. Cut my cake, well cut me too, just enough to patch up with glue. Shh quiet I'm concentrating; in the corner masturbating, to the sound of strawberry shortcake, these cavities I can't take. Just rip them all out of me, like this tasty killing fantasy; spun with cotton candy string, or that gummy spinny thing... Sex me up and tear me down, what is a whore without a crown? Thats like candy without sugar in it; pointless, bland, let me think here for a minute... Cookies, knives, and gummy bears, side show freaks at state fairs. Freaks and dripping ice cream cones; the ring master and his piercing tones. Break into my apple pie, the sooner I get to die. Fill a hole, with colored dots on paper, then eat them all like the constant raper. Pillage my goodies, rummage my sack; just remember to give it back... This has no point, but it is time to end; I am getting bored of this my friend, if only there was time to lend. I leave the chopped up pieces shorn, the bloody caramel in my bed still warm... Butter prickle, burnt pecan... There's a dead man out on the front lawn; A lolli-pop sticking out of his back, man this poem is really... WACK.