Baby Steps

As I'm laying here 
in my bed,
cherry blossoms bursting 
in my brain,
I scratch an itch
between the blue lines. 
But stop myself 
when I remember 
how the words
always seem to go bad. 
Like milk left out 
for too long. 
I crumple the paper,
sour taste left in my ears
and wait
for a heavy hand to drag me down
to sleep. 

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