You painted a picture
So beautiful, delicate.
Through blurred vision
Strangely elaborate.
Pastels turned to black,
And down to a blade.
It sliced through my skin
Light seemed to fade.
You said it was nothing.
Why couldn’t you see?
The nothing, the picture,
Wasn’t it me?
Shattered images,
Dripping imperfection,
On the linoleum,
Risking infection.
Oblivious?
That’s who you are.
I’m just a picture,
I carry a scar.
February 11, 2001