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.