The last gray sliver in my hand

The last gray sliver in my hand,

almost gone, almost gone.

It worked its purpose, wore away,

until the heel felt drawn.

Finer now, my skin could take

a gentler, softer touch.

But what was left of that rough rock?

Not much, not much.

A gritty dust, a final sigh,

down the drain it swirled.

And all the edges it made smooth,

now vanished from the world.

It gave its all, to make me soft,

to rub the rougher parts.

And left me wondering what it cost,

those disappearing hearts.