The Love Life of Writing Utensils
The paper screams
for me to reunite him with his love.
The paper and the pencil,
they seem like the perfect pair.
Who am I to keep them apart?
I fill his empty lines with dark letters,
so he can keep a piece of her
even when she’s gone.
The eraser is his mistress.
She needs him close too,
So I erase any trace of graphite.
Her gray mess,
from his perfect,
It becomes a vicious cycle
From one lover to the other,
And I become torn between them
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