Chipped Nails

Nails on a chalkboard that grate on two levels as
what was initially a poor choice in colour has been
neglected to chip and grow away from exposed cuticles.
Those fingers are so often pointed in the direction of
others like a pistol that the owner has failed to notice these
flaws, thinking herself blameless in the glare of the muzzle flash.

I’ve become a human incubator of a dark plague
that threatens to spill forth and choke out life around me –
at least she thinks so, cause it makes me pivotal and her a martyr.
Put the mask of anesthesia over my face so I can suffocate
with whatever green tastes like and what’s me inside can be sold
for spare parts, she’d probably even pay you to take them away.

Someone once loved her…


-- Steve McKennon, April 2005