Box of Crayons

The words all squirm together

as I write this short poem 

They do not appear as colors on a page

but a black blob 

They do not represent me 

just words  

like a dictionary

Maybe that is what our friendship was meant to be 

a rainbow faded gray 

the colors of crayons melting away 

something that was meant to stray 

I need to let our friendship decay  

but I refuse to let all the colors of our memories die away 



17 years old

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