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Broken Pencils

I sketch with ferocity

write with even more
my veins draw for me
write even more
pens and pencils never break then

but they understood when,
then, I could write none
draw even worse.

the fear of the blank page
the lead squeezed onto the surface
forced to imagine
coerced to do the work of my veins
for then, they dried out and left me in vain
the pens also dried out
lead wouldn’t come out
pens and pencils broke just then

 

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One comment

  1. Dante says:

    I read it a million times and it still moves me

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