The sweet stuff kills you.
I heard a rumor that Coca-Cola could clean the blood off of concrete. I heard a rumor that drinking Coca-Cola and eating a handful of Pop Rocks would explode your stomach and so I drank Coca-Cola and ate a handful of Pop Rocks, hoping something would happen. Explode my stomach or scrub me clean, but something has to change. Sticky dreams make me scream out at night, and I scare myself awake — I can smell the sweetness you left on my sheets. Something has to change. I heard a rumor the sugar is killing us. I wish people would stop telling me things like this.