Thursday, July 28, 2011

HATE POEM.

The mustard yellow paint on the living room walls.  I stared at it so long last night, as I covered it with primer.  I hate that color.  The walls are primed now, but it's like that mustard yellow is still there, mocking me, through several layers of white.  I can still see it!  It's not there, but IT IS THERE.  I know it's there.  I know it hasn't gone anywhere.  I know it's just sitting there under all the primer, laughing at me.  It doesn't matter what color I paint the walls, because I still see mustard yellow.


Haikus for You, Mustard Yellow Paint
Bob Ross never said
'happy little yellow wall'
so, I hope you're sad.


Die, yellow paint, die
Die, yellow paint, die die die
Die, yellow paint, die


If there is a hell, for me it will be an eternity of priming a wall that regenerates its color.

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