ink that won't erase

The pencil used to be my friend, now it feels like my worst enemy. All it does is drag up the memories I try to bury. It once brought peace to my chaos, now it only reminds me of who I used to be. I wish I could erase its traces from every page I’ve touched, but that would mean erasing every memory with it. This pencil isn’t graphite— it’s ink. Maybe I should burn it, but I’m scared I’ll burn with it. What once brought me joy now stains everything— a mark that won’t fade, a quiet haunting.