Corrugated, rusted metal.
Copper oxide hooks
Dig in, pulling skin, drawing long, red smiles.

Red is better than false in any sense.
These tetanoid chains will not loosen their grip!
It’s no use fighting

The chains seem to be the only metal
That remains un-eroded.
The sky is overcast.

Not gloomy, though.
I enjoy overcast days.
Better than searing, white light.

Infection, rot.
How has it gotten this bad?
It feels recent, and yet always.

Like the oxygen was already reacting
Just not visible that long ago.
And now this.

Still, it could be worse.
At least I’m in reach
Of a good, sharp, red-ink pen.

The ball point compresses
Red flows down
Spreads.

Farther and farther until it pools.
Shake off the excess
And I’m left with something resembling art.