be a blank slate,

you could write whatever you wanted

on me

and i would not protest,

you found me cute that way,

adorable even.

like i was an extension of you,

a ring on your finger, or an ornament

yours,

thought the world of you when you

said a charcoal pencil is priceless,

it became my favorite tool

because i believed –

then later on found out how cheap it

actually was,

it is the thought that counts you say,

i gave you a peck on the cheek

then asked for something you felt was priceless

no way, that is an outright robbery!

it is the thought that counts, i say

though you had already fumed off

because you can say it to me, but the game

is not to be played the other around.

it was your moment of truth,

you started talking about the weather, the clouds,

or what the latest fashion is.

then i knew this was never about a fair exchange,

it all had to do with a charcoal pencil

you enjoyed scrawling: a live doll

that spoke back, answered to your whim,

was you – in that order.

blank sheets colored stains, tear drops

turned to yellow creased paper

and used to no longer matters.