All through out the day my mind
wastes away in boredom.
I listen to some music and write up
a few poems.
But still boredom holds firm to my mind.
I begin to draw on paper.
But soon lose interest.
The pen in my hand aching for something
else to do.
Then it hits me.
My skin is an empty canvas.
Just sitting there awaiting the ink from my
pen.
I draw one triangle and soon I am lost in
my work.
I hear my teacher talking in the background.
But nothing can take me away from my
masterpiece.
Soon I finish and everyone gawks at my hand.
They tell me that I'm going to die of ink posioning.
And as always I respond with "We all have to go sometime".
