If I told you 
I thought you were pretty,
would you cut my hair
and break my spine?
Would you leave me
and the end of Smith Street
bleeding the color blue?

If a stranger walked by,
and saw my pool of blue blood,
would you let them take me?
Blue blood, chopped hair,
and a broken spine.
Would you?

If I told you
you’re the grey of the sky
and the ticking
of the grandfather clock,
would you chew off my pinky toe
and pull on my earrings
until my ears bleed?

Would you strip me of my clothes
and sell them to Samantha
down the street?
When she asks
where you got them,
would you say from your cousin?
Or me?

If I told you
I no longer want to be your friend,
would you go home
and hide under the couch cushion
with loose change and lost hair barrettes?
Would you bury yourself underground,
among the wormies
and their burrows?

Or would you toss a shrug,
and say: “I don’t care”?
Would you leave me
at the end of Smith Street,
wishing you had left me
bleeding the color blue,
instead of killing my love for you?