Doughboy

The bakers kneads my stomach into knotted dough
His demons walk my footsteps wherever I go
Biting at my heels
Restricting me to sight
Of what I really want to feel
So close it almost feels real

Instead he throws me into the oven
And the fires he fans
Patty cake, patty cake,
Baker's man,
Bake me to death as fast as you can.

But no,
You keep it slow...
Until the welts start to melt
And the boils begin to blow.
I'll only crumble in your hand, cold as the snow
And you'll throw me into the kiln's orange glow.