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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