Hi Honey

I count out those who I am truly myself around on my fingers,

I stop at three.

Sticky hot honey trickles down my palm... dribbles on my shirt...

Hand dipped in sweet uncomfortable feelings.

Shame curls and ligners.

Heart shared with all, but there's truly few keepers.

I stare at the ceiling, and they all look back...

My fingers should spiral out, thorns on a vine,

yet I've cage myself safely within this ravine.

Brush against stone. Follow curved lines.

Marked in the walls... each mistake, everytime time.

Seem to keep track, of all the times such.

When honey flows sickly. Too bountiful. Too much.

Should have kept quiet. I whisper outloud.

An they all sneer smugly, the phantom made crowd.