my_crayola_nightmare

The hypnotic smell
   that drifts out
   from a box of freshly packed crayons
Leads me to remember their birth
   and watch creation
   sift down from my memory...
The colorful wax
   flows in rivers
   towards the molds below
It takes all the strength
   I can muster up
   to envision their paper skin
   being wrapped tightly around.
When the final product is complete
   they are shipped off
   in little cardboard havens
   destined for a life
   in the sweaty palm of a child...
Recollection has been a success
   I've learned from the past...
   ...or have I?
After all, how can you
   actually become something
   that you've learned to hate?

I've become him.

Written on January 24, 2000