Mistook your niceness, for kindness
Couldn’t draw a line between the two
For my pencil had become too blunt
And my paper - too thick - to tear through
My eraser too pliable and worn
Kneaded down to a waning pulp
I tried shaping into a kind of moon
But instead made a waxing fault
That grows wider between the sternum
Carves me down the middle - twofold
Fleshy mounds of ****** grief
Unable to bridge back the whole
Pictures now lie placid, dormant
Stacked neatly, one atop the last
Withering - light-fast - fading
From memory, it’ll pass.