The pain of pleasure, the joy of suffering, the death of excess; it all lies a curious paradox of the soul.

When sugar tastes sour,
stings so the soft tastebuds
of a newborn's tongue,
I sit and watch the river
of human irony slither through
the canyon as deep
as all our souls combined.

Flies lie dead within
the sticky pool of honey.
So they died seeking a taste
sweeter than their needs,
and lethal even though
they may have died
happy to a tea.

Man and woman buzz around
like flies for honey
they seek death
in the hands of pleasure.
So much pain for
just a simple taste
of sickening sweetner,
a wicked trick of fate.

The thin line between sweet and sour
lie awaiting the taster,
to take his final taste,
upon mankind's pool
of deadly candy.