Pen

I am a cheap pen, living In your pencil box, which you keep unlocked So that someone steals, cause a new one rocks I have been, used to write letters that you didn’t mean Your ignorance is not a hidden thing Call me a link/linc between God and human beings As I write lies, which are truly seen/sin As truth, I put dots on a paper Still you love the costly pens, You honor them as your savior Clever, the way you favour The one with a branded name on it, remember When you bought a new one from open market By exchange of words, I was, brokenhearted Day by day it turned out to be a growing burden Knowing I am unwanted Throwing up on a book, I vomit, ink comes out Before he died, did Lincoln shout? No he died, with a dream living in the pocket of his coat A pen to represent him, present in presidential quote So I write, knowing that no one will go through my note My paper floats like a boat, frightened boat On my tears, all these years, all of this enlightened road Full of water and mud, what else you want? Will write till my ink dries and nibs get blunt But someone takes credit of what I write, I am not a born fighter I am a mechanical ghostwriter I could, make the world look, more brighter