If you stuck a toothpick into my intentions, it wouldn’t
come out clean;
A half-baked mosaic layered cake of indecision with
intersections of decadence is only fit for another hedonist with a strong
stomach for uncertainty and debatable principles.
It’s not long until the treat would come out complete, but
yet I don’t heed the warning on the box and lick the spoon anyway.
I guess I’ve been willing to accept the risk of sickness for
the reward of batter raw.
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