those children's hands are so grimy,
but yet how disgusting they might be
they press my head hard onto parchment,
my blood staining it with a glowing orange.
scribble, scribble, scribble, they go crazy,
but i cannot stop their assault. it happens
erratically anyways.
 
i'm taken out from everyone among my ranks,
but why? if only i was sharper to stay out of sight!
or not, since if i were, i'd be used more often.

my brothers were lucky that they did not suffer today.
they watch, though.
blue has met the worst.

the chubby-cheeked beast snapped him in half.
he remains in two pieces at the bottom of the box,
groaning, moaning, complaining about life.
he's lucky.

a lot of us in here, trapped and confined
in this colorful prison,
are not.