Pencil
Worn down
Used up
Trace those pretty words onto your paper
Let them know you have something to say
Who really cares? Not me.
I'm just a sad victim
Of your insecurities.
Do you love me?
You must
To hold me quite so dearly
When you let your secrets out,
What do you want them to see?
I don't think you really love them.
You love the paper,
Pen,
And me.
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