trojan horse

wrapped like a pudding, what's your favorite color and your wish will be granted! taste like a red herring, wait - taste like a dream come true. there, that sounds a lot more palatable the ears do not differentiate what stings and what moves the heart, for the flesh makes a pathway when the salesman tells a good tale. bedtime stories, nightmares of adult life and miss muffet is no longer spooked by the spider because she has grown old, no longer sees clearly with all that hairy, needly, spiny touches sending shivers of delight, another curd slides into her mouth, yummy must be yummy when needly, spiny touches becomes whatever she imagines them to be. of cobwebs, of spiders down her throat, infesting her insides she must sense them not! what a horrid tale, not good for bedtime and thus the trojan horses make their way to the heart, twist, it, wraps around that living beating thing, adaptation, transformation, alchemy till the living being has been stolen away, his identity lost, now just another slave rushing for the next big sale.