Pencil
Scratch
Scratch
Scribble
Scratch
I am
-scribble-
being drained
-scratch.
As I regain consciousness
-scribble,
I find myself in the third person
-scratch,
Looking helplessly at my thin, long, wooden body
-scribble.
I embody humanity’s
-scratch-
ability to create.
The consequence is
-scribble-
I am drained with each mark.
Rigidly, a human grips me and
-scratch-
marks the paper with my tip,
creating, pouring, embodying their feelings in my blood.
Scratch, scribble.
Crack.
I feel it as if I am being broken apart,
shattered.
My
lead
breaks.
Despite the power I hold, I am still fragile.
Roughly, the human thrusts me into a box of metal and begins to
sharpen
me,
draining me further,
while providing me a use once more.
Scribble
Scratch
Looking at what I am making,
-scratch-
I see evil.
In the hands of a powerful figure
-scratch-
I can do terrible things.
Easily bent,
easily broken,
easily used.
Crack.
Back to the sharpener.
-Andrew Larsen, freshman
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