I wrote out your name with a pencil,

Knowing that I would have to erase it

Eventually.

I was afraid of the thought of you

Being permanently etched

Into the hollows of

My mind.

The ink of the pen you used

Last week has already been

Transfused into the rough graphite

Of my number 2 pencil.

We haven't spoken in

A while but

[I can't stop writing out your name.]

Before I am able to erase the last

Pencil markings on the cover of

My notebook,

The graphite becomes 

An undeniable shade of

Permanent black ink

In which only you could erase.

Although I wrote your name in pencil,

I can't seem to erase you out.

The thought of you

Has splattered across

My mind,

Similar to the way

The ink has run

Through the cover of my notebook

And into the spine.