A new car.
A new necklace.
A new belt buckle.
All begin to rust.
When using them,
touching them,
the grime rubs off,
leaving spots on once
only lightly scarred skin.
What if the rust and grime
Soaks in?
running through one's
blood stream,
like an Olympic sprinter.
Flowing, casually,
Through limbs,
To the brain.
What if that
makes a difference?
I think  it makes
my writing pointless.
Leaves me with no inspiration.
Maybe, Maybe, Maybe.
That's what it means to be...
*RUSTY