Sketch

I always drew the wrong conclusions

my eraser's been worn down

There's a million holes in that old paper

Where I tried so hard to tear me down

Crayons in the Pandora's box of my imagination

only see primary colors simple fascinations

they don't reveal the fine lines

they don't detail the shadows

And all those empty spaces lead me to a living gallows

Except this time I know what I'm doing