Wishy-Washy

Lost somewhere,

lost deep in my head

Turning this way,

that way,

double-taking,

standing with hesitation

Far from the edge,

then close again,

then far again

Touch me,

don't touch me,

touch me again

If I had a texture,

I'd say it would probably be

slippery to the touch 

There is water in my shoes,

dripping from the tips of hair

I'm wishy-washy

and squelch with every movement