I trick myself with harmony, my sugar-coated treat. I love the peaceful rush, the calming hush of equilibrium maintained.
When I treat myself with victory, why do I feel such loss?
I trick myself with recompense; it’s important to pay one’s dues. I savor how funny, though, words used for money, make opposition disappear.
When I treat myself with an allowance, why do I feel so poor?
I trick myself with deliberation. Haste makes waste, you know. I crave a pensive pause, an ignorance of flaws, that a good long think can dull.
When I treat myself with new truth, why do I feel so used?
Trick or treat? One is expected and the other is implied.
I am too darn sweet.