sucralose sentiment

you never ever called me
sweet, so i glazed my skin with
sugar. it crusted over my scabbed
and scarring wrists and…oh.
it burnsandburnsandburns. like
hell, but then again…i love the pain.
that’s why i love you, right?

you never ever called me
sweet, so i took a syringe to my
sugar-frosted skin and injected
myself with thick, sticky syrups.
right there, right in my too small
veins that rope around my wrists
like thin strips of blue licorice, right
fucking there. now i am bloated and
somewhat beautiful with all the
sweetness that runs through my blood.

you never ever called me
sweet, so i painted my face with frosting,
dipped my tongue in chocolate, slicked
my hair with caramel, and snorted all
of the powdered sugar that i could,
only to have you run your tongue
against my sugar-sweet ear and
whisper in a tone just dripping with
honey,
“i never liked ‘em sweet.”
“you never loved me when i was sour or bitter or bland either.”
“no matter what, sweetie,” he breathed,
inhaling my saccharine skin,
“i will never love you.”

(it’s the first truth you’ve ever told me, and
the only truth i never wanted to hear.)