by Essence Bryant, literary editor
Aching for that bittersweet first bite
to ruin your appetite.
Justify it as
“loves a feast, my name’s heart disease”,
but disengage the teenage phase of
falling so hard, you break your rock candy heart
or tell a lie.
High in cotton candy skies
with that
fluorescent adolescence
that turned your sweet heart black,
so that
cavities flow from the molten sugar that runs through your veins
turning them black and blue
but the sugar rush is over
and left you high and dry
your wings turned to a cherry-flavored dust
and crippled with the residual sugary syrup
you drink til you drown
never to be insulated with the insulin
that kept you sound.