I wrapped tape around my wrists to see if you would pay attention to me,
and when that did not work,
I made artificial blood to see how you felt about me
Ignorance is all the that ever came to fruition with us
And that got me thinking about all the artificial blood that runs in and out of those veins of yours,
but I felt a moment of pity for you,
wondering whether it was icy and if I got good and close, with a pick, could I chisel away at the likes of you
Cold people are boring,
they are either dead or unenlightened,
my father told me that when I was a child and for some reason, I recalled it when I looked at you
And then I remembered blueberries better,
so I ate them and I blew up good and blue in the head,
like Violet Beauregarde,
And I shoved them down my throat,
until I was no longer blue for you,
But this time,
I took the cooking shears to my pivot points,
and I stopped worrying about your paper covering my rocks,
because it had been thoughtless, empty, and vapid white for some time now
and because I was finally flushed,
finally seeing red
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