Must You Read Me? Must You See my Paint?

Must You Read Me?

Must You See My Paint?

No you must not

I’ll tell you what

It’s all dirt

Made of other dusts

Cheap by all means

Creepy in its statuses

No you must not

Those words, I didn’t even think about them

They just appeared—shapened themselves up on the white

The little dots you call full stops

They are only there because you exist

And I am in the business of babysitting you

Constantly checking your reading behavior—

You are in a rehab!

Why should you read?

When it’s all big lies

When it’s all bitchy and witchy

Tell me, why should you read

Some squeaky little pranks

That only exist in their death

I don’t see why you should

Read a work you will never get a new vocabulary

It’s all bullshit

Like the old-fashioned Hoi-polloi

Well, that is a new word

But it’s old-fashioned!

You must not see my paint

You don’t want to scratch your loose

Hairs and scalp—you don’t want

It float on the hairs

You don’t want to stand

You don’t want an orgasm of sensual pleasure

Why should you see my paint

When the only thing I felt

Was the ASMR

That bitchy sensation on the back of my head

Actually (whispers) it was anomalously just above my ears—

That should make you see my paint?

I insist you must not

See my paint—it is all black

Some paint accidentally splashed

And made the unmistakable down-streams

I call them flows—tears maybe

Sometimes I am short of paints that’s why

The minimalist I hail an acclaimed title

While all around me is a bizarre existence

n  Wait, I don’t even know if you are seeing

My paintings—or even reading my words

How can you do such a horrible thing?

Baby, it’s gonna harm you, just don’t do it.