The Sweetest Dreams

By Pamela Buscema, age 16
The Sweetest Dreams

I’m trying to keep up with you on a trembling tundra
of crushed snow cones, dribbled with flavorings that’ve bled.”

I kind of want you in my bloodstream,

like a thick caramel serum.

 

I want to inhale your scent,

like I’m in a powdered sugar delirium.

 

I really want to suck on you,

like a lollipop with succulent swirls.

 

I need to let the remnants of soda pop on your lips

roll around my mouth in luscious twirls.

 

I’ve been searching for a sugar high,

in this twisted candy land.

 

I’m left drowning in fields of gumdrops

and suffocating on cotton candy strands.

 

I’m knee-deep in ample puddles of marshmallows

oozing and tearing with each step.

 

I’m trying to keep up with you on a trembling tundra

of crushed snow cones, dribbled with flavorings that’ve bled.

 

I hate the winding roads of broken gingerbread

you’ve carelessly constructed.

 

From the mountains of cake to each iced layer,

all the sugar-coated froufrou of a daydream

 

makes me cringe and leave you forgotten,

 

and led me to this sickening realization

that sweetness turns bitter and bitter, rotten.

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