Like the diet coke and mentos challenge.
I have a history the elementary school children giggle about in the cafeteria.
An unstable inability to mix with bubbling thirst quenchers.. like her.
I will self destruct inside of you when I taste her on your tongue,
Forcing your mouth open with all of our fight.
When we explode outwards we will froth to your chest, sticky.
Like the ice and salt challenge.
The blisters on your skin are souvenirs from how hot my cold body on yours was.
Delete the video.
Your experiment with me was not entertaining on camera.
Delete the pictures.
They will never be an accurate account of what I did to you.
Deny that this ever happened.
Like the fire challenge.
Light yourself up and burn beneath me.
Tell everyone I was a stupid joke but keep the scars in case anyone questions your word.
Keep them as a reminder that at one point you stooped low enough to play with me.
Deny all to your parents.
Like the ice bucket challenge.
When you submerge yourself in the darkness of me you will shiver.
When your clothes stick to you you will peel them off and hang me, dripping, in your bathtub.
You’ll tell your friends it wasn’t that bad,
Refreshing even and pass me on to raise awareness of how sick little girls can be.
when no one is watching you will claw at dry towels to scrub yourself clean of me.
Like the milk challenge.
Consuming large amounts of me in one sitting is not recommend.
1 gallon pure white disease doesn’t mix well with stomach acid.
I will claw my way out of your throat and collapse at your feet when you try to leave me.
Like the cinnamon challenge.
Swallow me in under sixty seconds.
When you gag don’t spit me out you have something to prove here.
Remember not to leave any part of me on your palette: swallow my dry ugly.
Take every precaution so my gossiping mind doesn’t speak inside you.
When you cough you will blow me out in a cloud.
When you vomit your body will be thankful it knows how to exact poisonous things.
Like YouTube challenges.
Your interest in me will die out soon.
And all that will be left are your scars and embarrassment and my flowering bouquet of lonely.