Candy in the House

There is candy in the house.  I know it is there.  

Sitting in the lower living room staring at the wall.  Thinking melancholy thoughts that need an infusion of sugar to take off the edge, a wedge, the sadness to stall.

Why does she not acknowledge the intensity of my interest?  Does she not sense my deep appreciation of all things her?  I want things as they were or easily attained on Pinterest.

There is candy in the house.  I know it is there.

The cure for despair is chocolate melting on the tongue.  Coffee is good too, but it can sometimes simply energize the negativity.  Stimulant selectivity.  Sing what is sung.

I am a broken man looking for a quick fix, maybe a Blow Pop with thirty licks.  Would that do it?  Screw it!  I need to get up and look for it.  Detective Dicks, at your service.

There is candy in the house.  I know it is there.

Maybe under a chair?  I look through the cabinets but find only fragments.  My nose seeks out a fruity aroma, traveling about like the Roma.  Hard candies turn out to be magnets.

It is such a strange and superficial addiction.  Most things worth eating are found in the kitchen, but I feel I must look outward, northward, southward… a fiction.

There is candy in the house.  I know it is there.  But where?

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