Corrupt by doubt,
I feel I wont succeed.
That I shall not create the very image
Raveled in my mind.

You, the only instrument
I truly know how to play.
I grasped you in my hand,
frustrated, but contempt.

My anger washes over me.
I hold you tighter.
You scream to stop,
but I do not hear you.

Your shattered pieces lay in my hand.
I would never
want to replace you.
But you are useless.
You are dead.

I carry you to the garbage
wondering where you will end up.
I toss you on top of the paint stained
paper towels.

You lay there
helplessly.

I return to my seat
and grab my pencil box.
Who would be next?