Drawing into Stalingrad

I am a drawing in your mind.

That’s all.

Born reluctantly out of your self-absorbed
Even when you’re looking right at me

I am invisible.

You zoom and erase and distort to your own liking
Treating me like an inanimate thought
Perfecting me if you are interested
Defiling me if you are not.

Some defilement can be perfection.

I am a drawing underneath your skin
Sucked into the vacuum of your pores
Expired through the lead inside your brain

I can be scribbled out with an angry hand

I’m sorry I made you angry.
I didn’t mean to.
I promise.

(please scribble me out)

I am only a drawing after all.


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