I feel lost in my writing like my words lead no where.
They are empty steps on paper stairs that are lined blue with red railings.
I go no where but up and up;
My hopes go with them.
I fall off the meaningless edge.
Think of me as a child:
adorable and unwise,
clumsy and awkward.
He is eye-candy that tastes bitter when you reach the center,
but you still want to taste him,
to go through the meal.
