A crayon coloring book with perfectly printed pages lay raped
by curling black incisions on the surface primed with
the burnished banner of a social revolution.

Knives were jammed into worn desks that dreams ate form into, fallen
over a splintered canvas in the corner of the room; cowering behind
scribbled ribbons of receipts for scores of debts replayed.

The lime green I sprayed in poisonous patterns bled through the walls
to contrastingly compliment the sterile atmosphere. I saw it glowing
on your face, but couldn't blame myself.

You were strung by your doubts at your wrists and your neck like a tortured
mannequin draped over the chair. My words balanced on the wire taut between us and
I'd been drinking.

You posed as if I cut you down and sighed adieu in your best French-Canadian accent.
I squeezed my pen like a blade.
A finger-painted smirk smudged your lips as you turned toward the open door
and I craved a cigarette like a god damned madman.

04/22/2004

Author's Note: Accidentally deleted this a while ago.

Posted on 07/27/2006
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen