For am I a piece of pencil
destined to be attached to an eraser
as I scribble promises
through the thin paper heart of yours.

Constant erasure leads to tearing
now I know how painful it is
to be a canvas to every sin
a shed of paper from a notebook
  since the promises I made came back
and the eraser has willingly given up

I write our stories like it's the last
carry every metaphor to permanent
for you stay in this ******* moment