the meringue at the end of my fork is strong;
it stands on its own, whipped
light, airy
it is filled with sugary sweet air
but soon,
it collapses, deflates
air oozes out through the cracks in its armor
soon it is nothing
but a cracked shell on the ground,
empty, hopeless
unaware that it ever knew how
to stand on its own.
-a.c.b