A pencil,
Used then discarded,
Just like me.
I was always used,
For one reason or another,
Then discarded,
Just like a pencil.
I've never had,
A true friend,
Someone who was there,
Like I was for them.
Just once,
I would like that friend,
Just once,
I want to be human
And not a pencil.
YOU ARE READING
My Lonely Pathos
PoetryA series of poems, songs and whatever else is screaming in my mind. Pathos isn't something that comes to me, but when it does, it's written down and shared for those to see.
