Polish

It’s a goddamned shame.

A single drip of pink nail polish wham-bam in the middle of your perfectly manicured nails, painted in a whitish-topcoat.

Because what happens now has everything to do with smearing.

Get the acetone. Get the q-tips. Get the cotton balls. Get what you can.

It won’t matter.

Perfection won’t be perfection any longer.

Vanity will win out, of course, but.

Maybe it’s just as well to leave the pink to fade and blanch.

Maybe it’s just as well to leave it be, let it bond in torturous rapture, until you no longer rebel against the idea.

Pink is all in your head, anyway.

Comments

poeticgrin

May 22, 2009

I once told you to live hard and pink.
me2watson

May 25, 2009

You’re always good for a laugh, li’l pinky!

Grey, I believe, is in what head I’ve got.
When it began to sprout on the outside,
I knew what I was in for. Torturous
rapture aside, and asunder. Perfect!

Uncle Tree
(Happy Memorial Day! Chow!)
medicatedlady

May 25, 2009

You are a dear Uncle Tree, Uncle Tree. Grey is the color of my heart.
mariana

May 25, 2009

Good poem.
Forcing things to make them happen end up breaking them up most of the time.
What started with a small pink stain keeps expanding. It expands 1/4 of its size every time you try to get rid of it. So you either stop of become the pink panter once and for all.
medicatedlady

May 26, 2009

Yes, it’s a struggle…knowing when it’s time to give in to the inevitable and what your heart/minds says CANNOT be inevitable.