Blue Pencil

Kobold demons of the mines, hide gems which later explode and make trouble for miners like me...

Blue-Pencil

Kobold demons of the ailing mind
hide cerulean gems
in musty tunnels and roomy chambers.
Synapse misfire and dynamited dreams
turn soft silvery blue pencil pathways
to chalk.

You are 'going mad'.
I take your hand.
Sapphire bombshells
ashen your face.

Zombie cobalt statues creak
and come alive,
rise as spectered silhouettes
to dance again on your iris.
As they decorate the wall
and shriek like the corridor,
you say, I need a break:
I am about to paint the windows,
the blueprint, my mirror, your teapot...
So we agree to call it a day.

You go and I pick up
the blue-pencil
and edit your contribution
back to something bland,
ashen;

(By the way-
I know there is a demon in the teapot
so I am still careful to leave the lid on it)

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