I draw a heart, two half circles meeting at a sharp tip.
The meeting between the curves going to a low dip.
Fills an empty margin, in pencil, not pen.
Look down, smile. Happiness to no end.

Days drag as the months go on,
The pencil touches the paper and more is drawn.
A fighter plane shooting, two swords through the mounds,
A bomb dropping, a smile upside-down.

Thick, bumpy strokes of charcoal grey make it history,
Underneath it all is now a mystery.
My pencil tip breaks. I know where it had begun,
Now let me see what I have done.

What was once a beautiful drawing,
Looks like a victim after the mauling.
The people around would not know that at the start,
That mess of torture was simply my heart.