It’s a horrible thing to desire sweet edible manufactured treats and not have any at your disposal. Now I know exactly what it must have felt like to be in the holocaust.
I am not at home tonight and while this place is plenty hospitable, it lacks something fairly important for survival and inspired this poem that I just jotted out. I call it:
THERES NO FKKN CANDY IN THIS HOUSE…
Through an ocean of orchards and a sky of despair
in a medley of fruit, I squirm in my chair.
My desire for Airheads cannot be controlled.
I go sifting for SweetTarts like i’m panning for gold.
What i’d do for a gummy, or sour patch wish
how I long for an Icee or bagged Sweedish Fish
My search ends in failure, I accept I must stop.
Though I’d give up my Kingdom, for one Flintstones Push-pop.
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