Eating Breakfast With His Ego

As long as I adored him 
he adored me back 
like pure maple syrup over pancakes. 
And I thought there was nothing 
sweeter than him on the end 
of my fork, dripping with praise. 
Once in awhile, I would get sick 
of the sweetness of my words 
and I would take them back. 
The minute that happened 
he would char on the griddle 
and be gone, crisped 
to black and bitter.