If I was a piece of candy, I would be asking, why am I still here?

Like the body of a chocolate Freddo frog.

I know what happened to my head cos everyone seems to sadistically          devour that part first.

But they left me, the body behind.

I am free to go wherever the garbage truck takes me.

Can’t see anything though.

If I was a piece of candy, I wouldn’t like to be that sole lonely jelly baby      on the side walk.

Not knowing when the next foot is going to nearly crush me.

Or slowly withered away towards an excruciating death by the heat of        the sun.

And what if some lucky shoe does befall onto me?

What if I still survive that?

Oh the pain.

If I was a piece of candy, I would rather be at the very bottom of that          jar.

I would be planning my escape while the other lollies are taken one-by-      one.

Every time that freckle-face kid reaches in, my time to escape gets                shorter and shorter.

I do not like the thought of being thrown down that never-ending               churning gob of his and to discover what hideous things lie within the          walls of his bloated belly.

Oh no here comes the hand!

If I was a piece of candy, I certainly would not like to belong to those          boxes of assorted chocolate.

You know - the ones with your photo on the back so that people can            pick and choose.

Happens all the time, ones like me hardly ever get chosen until the last.

What is so bad about Turkish delight anyway?

I already live in an ordered society, pigeon-holed and type-casted.

Pick me, eat me, I’m a delight!

If I was a piece of candy, I would love to be a hundred and thousand            candy.

Tiny, round, and deceptively adorable.

We are everywhere.

You will find us in your clothing, your bed, every other nook and                  cranny.

We are in your pockets when you least expect it.

We can float in your coffee and really put you off.

Soon we will be hundreds of millions.

The world is ours to invade.

If I was a piece of candy I would like to be that sticky one at the bottom      of a jacket pocket.

Been there so long that I have become part of the fabric that even                washing cannot separate.

Oh the sheer delight of hearing a scream or ‘yuck’ in the aftermath of        the rather un-expecting reaching human hand.

They can’t destroy me, I’m stuck here forever.

An ingrained, silent, annoying piece of candy I am.