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Erased MAG
May 13, 2015
A day later
and now there’s two pieces.
It served me a function once
but the high is gone and capsized
I have nothing new to write.
The paint is beginning to peel,
washed away by unloving and careless hands –
knuckled by words and dreams thin as paper.
It washes up
on the dark side of the globe –
The left piece first
and the right
just behind.
She picks it up
running careful and bold fingers
along its edge. And in the crack
she sees my words and capsized
she washes away
my name.
© Anonymous
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Spoiler Alert: It's about a pencil.
Seriously. I had nothing to write about. And there was a pencil nearby. So I broke it in half and well, poem.