Dandelion honey

Honey is not warm anymore — it’s boiling,

Skinning me alive, blood on the surface shining.

The sun outside is peeking through,

Crystallized blood, center white, edges blue.

Looks so beautiful, yet so bitter.

The honey sea is getting bigger.

Deeper I go, tighter I feel,

Feeling nothing but gripping fear.

A sickening feeling grips my throat,

The shame is tightening a tight coat.

Everyone is waiting for something,

Searching inside, finding nothing.

The honey is no longer warm or sweet —

Bitter as dandelions with burning heat.

With every heartbeat, part of me dies;

Another me — in a grave — she lies.

---