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Sweetness and Rot
A cake is dressed up in buttercream,
With rosettes piped in pastel dream.
It perches proud on porcelain plate,
A vision designed to captivate.
Each layer swirls in sugared grace,
A perfect sponge, a flawless face.
But look closer now, don’t turn away,
The crumbs are wet with odd decay.
Its center weeps a curdled jam,
Its velvet sponge collapsed and damp.
Beneath the gloss, beneath the glaze,
Mold festers in a blooming haze.
The guests all smile and praise the treat,
They coo and clap and call it sweet.
But once they taste what lies within,
Their mold-laced spit will roll down their chins.
"I baked it special" I said, yet fingers are crossed
I covered every crack and split with sweet lies.
This pretty, spoiled offering, with fondant roses embossed
You'll never see the truth with naked eyes.
And if they gag, I’ll laugh until I cry
Its their own fault for trusting so blindly
Even something with a beauty that never dies
You should never judge a cake by its icing.
#soft aesthetic#morute#morute aesthetic#haunted#southern gothic#poem#original poetry#original poem#morute poetry#poems by Mary Catherine O'Shea
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