vanilla is the garlic of baking,
love is the malice of hating,
truth is a promise worth making
until someone proves they were faking.
you knew every thought I kept buried,
every truth I was too scared to carry.
I gave you the parts I concealed,
and you made me regret they were real.
I hate that I still understand you,
still search for excuses to hand you.
I hate that I know you so well
that i can write your defence myself.
vanilla is the garlic of baking,
love is the malice of hating,
and the cruelest part of forsaking
is making the loyal feel stupid for waiting.