The Crushing Inevitability of Cakes*
There is a crumbiness to life,
a moist, dense sadness that dries out and falls apart
if you leave it alone on the counter for too long.
The icing crusting and rusting and rotting around the edges,
making you look at the slow decay of a sugary promise.
But then you laugh,
watching the calories subside into their own frivolity,
and you decide,
perhaps, I will have a piece anyway.
* No, I also have no fucking clue why I’m writing sad nihilist poems about cake.