Sad Labels:
sad
I traced the claw with a charcoal pencil. As though I were an artist. Or had, at some time been. Maybe. I knew the pictures so well. Especially when I knew they were being looked at my someone else.
Strange eyes like little razor blades devouring the image. Insofar as it had ever been mine. Little lies putting handcuffs on my heavens. Stalling the messages I had sent to absentee lovers. Curdling the bed we'd almost slept in together.
Arguing with the concrete as it hardens about my limbs. Milquetoast gradients in this grey rainbow. Cold pie on the windowsill. Not worthy stealing.
There's still time. To forget. To paint the walls like we're colorblind teenagers. Or just regular people without nothing left to regret.