Trim, paint, and bedazzle me on your phalanges if you like. Integral for constructing, securing, and building just right. But be wary, stepping on a rusty me will result in a painful lockjaw. And to put me in a coffin? Well that’s the very final straw.

The type of cheese that doesn’t belong to you

There are four things I could be, An armless chair found at a bar, The growing stump of plant or tree, A sample from the Bristol Chart, Or finally, a decoy bird - would a pigeon be too absurd?

Paint this red not with a brush but by having a good time out.

I shuffle slow with vacant stare, yet people flee when I am there. Though life has left me long ago, I still refuse to let it go.