Dull Edges

I grip the pencil, its lead worn and frayed,

a sharp thought escapes, but it feels overplayed.

Mistakes linger close, a ghost on my sheet,

as the eraser lies lost, underfoot in retreat.

Shavings collect, like memories tossed,

all angles now dulled, the meaning embossed.

I search for the words, but they shuffle and fade,

a scribble of life where no fresh start is made.