Straight as a ruler
she skimmers the walls,
hissing, "Leave me alone
because I'm lonely."  And so the
bugs, one by one, clunk and fall. 

Tulips douse themselves with dew,
hiding from common sunlight.
To her, they're tearing up like third
graders in time out, so she moans
and groans and waits for the weary.

She wants to be friendly, make friends,
and maybe even cry. Yet she plots and
plans as if she were a master mind.
Constantly reminded that not one
person would know if she died.

Peek in the tree house,
the basement, the yard.
Check for blue stains that she
Dripped on the rug. Lurking and
craving to be smaller than dust.

She pokes and prods at all
of their blinds, as they slice
thin arms allowing veins to cry.
Glance up to see a girl in blue, they simply
explain that their eyes are too dry to.

In the laundry room past
mud-coated boots and holey socks,
she pulls off her blue garments.
As they soak in sud, she
proceeds to drown them in bleach.

While hanging on the line,
she fills up an abandoned sand
bucket with paint bluer than
her eyes. Placing one foot after
another, flinching inside.

It absorbs up her skin,
leaking into her pores, thinking
of how she can't affect anyone at
all. So she holds her head under
the paint a second too long.