By Alex Creece
A bubblegum-lipped boy, with his gnawing foibles, is stuck behind my ear. He is a sugar rush of intravenous self esteem, fizzy-lifting me to great glass heights. I succumb to his saccharine sweet nothings in a sprinkling of pixie dust and avarice. My dahling keeps me plump and unassuming on a diet of riches and rich snack treats. We feed and fuck and fulfill our cupidity under the hailstorm veil of cupid’s arrow. Fat and happy, I disregard the dangers of a beau on a wondrous boat ride, and allow myself to tumble
To a doopity doom.