Always one.
In that box, so perfectly packaged,
they line up like colourful sausages,
poisoned pole from factory seal.
In every box.
At every sorting.
One singular implement full
of malice and evil, rests
alongside unknowing brethren.
You know the colour,
to exactly what extent you know
of this evil rests on the amount
you have tried to stick within
lines of pen, to keep those
rainbow shades within lines
and here comes THAT crayon.
Pushing outwards till
ruined picture presents and your
tears break free.
It gloats and laughs,
revelling in caused destruction.
You hate filled pillar,
I shall crush you once again,
I will not be bested by scribbles.