I want to, but it’s hard to tell a lie;
by the crumbs on my shirt,
and the feeling that I’m made of dirt,
I think we both know what happened:
I absolutely demolished your pie.
There, in the fridge, I caught a glimpse
of that pie; was it apple? I can not tell.
I just dove right in, gave my stomach hell.
Do I regret this?
It was delicious, sweet, full of bliss;
why was it so good?
I think I know why:
it was yours, it was not mine,
and since I do not like you,
that pie became divine.
— Jackson Williams.