Dazed yet frantic.
My utensil scratched
and shaded and
molded.
The outside world
dead
to my ears and eyes.
Only the white and lead
colored my mind.
When finally the lead ceased
to run along the page
he said,
“What are you writing?”
Writing?
“I thought I was drawing shapes?”
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
Dazed yet frantic.
My utensil scratched
and shaded and
molded.
The outside world
dead
to my ears and eyes.
Only the white and lead
colored my mind.
When finally the lead ceased
to run along the page
he said,
“What are you writing?”
Writing?
“I thought I was drawing shapes?”
Thanks for the read. Comments and criticism are always welcome.
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