Lucky

I'm lucky not to be in the next classroom over. Where the pencils are used for drawing dicks and crude symbols. Instead, I lie in the hands of a master. My life is being pressed out of me, but at least I make something beautiful with it. The life of a true artist, the shades of my graphite creating faces and flowers, brought to life by my death. I'm nearing my last days. I'm the length of the girl's thumb. Soon, I will join my brethren in the trash. But, how bad can it be, right?