graffiti, every written ode to her was just spray paint in a public urinal, ignored after awhile, grown to become just another eyesore in the day to day

i became just a panhandler at the street corner begging for the small change glances she have to every other grubby loser with a cleverly written sign

i told myself i could quit her, go cold turkey, ignore the pangs of addiction, the sweats, the spiders crawling on my skin, and i did for a few moments longer each day

so i took my cans of paint, put them in my backpack along with the cardboard sign proclaiming she was the end of my world and went back to my alley shelter

i doubt she even noticed i was no longer there, rattling my cup for one more look, tagging every space with her echo, just more littered annoyance to step around

7 thoughts on “graffiti

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