Harriet's pot.

I knew they were all sweets of a dangling viper, vaping energy, puking poison as mocktails, yet, I believed. I bathed in them like lavender till they were roses. I let myself loose, spewing like helpless canons, shooting into the heavens. I grasped his horns and envisioned it a costume. I thought he was art, my masterpiece, so I surrendered, I offered myself as a muse, he gulped my every juice. I gave myself as a canvas, he stroked the world's darkest Miseries on me.