It was February 6th, the boy could taste the wood in his teeth
Had a bad habit, of a pencil, and biting on it
It was history class, in boredom the boy could pass
A blank page, for a bored mind like his in its own cage
The page screaming, for him to fulfill it with a drawing
A rock and a girl,
Seemingly in her own world
The boy had drawn a stranger, and although he had made her
And she had come from his thoughts, her, he didn't know lots of
It was interesting, he had made a character, perhaps story teller
Couldn't tell what she was thinkin', or who she was even
It was as if this image he'd made, had its own thoughts that would fade
Just like the rock, and the girl
Both drawn in pencil, would eventually fade leaving a mere sample
The page that was once empty, was fulfilled simply,
With the vision of a portrait, that by looking at it, it stood still
Yet anyone who interpret it carries, their own series of stories
However, to the boy she looked quite sad, maybe because he has what she never had
The ability of speaking, breathing, living, after all she is just a drawing
Maybe she seats on the rock with thoughts that are existential, as she realizes she is drawn in pencil