No Takebacks

This stub of wood, its eraser gone,

sharp tip pressed against my dawn.

Mistakes engraved with graphite lines,

no soft erase of failing signs.

The point refuses to be dull,

though I’ve pressed too hard and pulled.

Broken end, jagged and bare,

a silent witness to my careless stare.

No going back, no second chance—

this pencil's edge holds my flawed dance.