He took crayon to paper,
Such bright coloured paper
And pinked it with glitter and glue.
The words made no sense.
But in their expense,
He poured out his mind of un-filtered hue.
And he couldn't reach the counter;
Where the telephone rang
And he said hello to whoever was there.
And mommy wiped the stains off his face, even though she knew they’d come back
And daddy tucked him into bed and kissed him on the forehead
And story time put him to sleep
And he made dreams
He took pencil to paper,
Such widened, lined paper
And practised his a-b’s and 2-3’s.
He coloured off the lines
Of smudges and designs
But they were not very pleased.
And he could swipe through the counter
Where he’d grab his paper bag
And run off somewhere
And mommy kissed him goodbye, but he wiped off the lipstick
And daddy was hard at work; at least that was what she told him
And he threw a tantrum when daddy couldn’t read a story
And mommy tried to.
He took pen to paper,
Such plain, blue-lined paper
And wrote of what he was told to.
The words were generic.
Thoughts turned numeric;
- But he got an A - who cares what he wanted to do?
And he ran by the counter
To grab the keys and some cash
And left for somewhere - he can’t remember
And that woman screamed for him, without avail
And that man wasn’t there - he was never there
And he fell asleep at his friend’s couch - at someone's couch
And he was out
He took dust to paper
Such tattered, torn paper,
And laced it with powder and spit.
A pathetic, flicked ember
In the cold of December;
Whispering to nothing, "one last hit".
And he couldn't reach the counter
Where the beeping dial tone;
Came on after he typed one 9 and one 1.
And the woman was long gone, not caring
And the man was down deep
And he fell to pieces, but never resting
And he was out… cold
And the paper burned
And the fire ate
And the neighbours screamed
And the tires screeched
And the water drenched
And the memories singed
And the body cold; Was held dear by the woman
And the boy saw his daddy
And his mommy soon came
And so he took pencil to paper
Such faded, frail paper
And wrote of what he had felt
Just before the smudges in the beeping car pulled him back
From somewhere - he can't remember
And his mother cried
And his father died
And he was in bed
And fell asleep one last time…
With a crumpled piece of paper by his bedside.