Madeline

Pens and papers, are Really dangerous tools Madeline,

They let people, talk to The people, who they Can't actually talk to,

For some, not very Apparent reasons,

They let people build, Conversations with nice Settings, good grammar, Good conclusions.

One sentence can hold a Lot, can make one laugh Or cry endlessly,

One might be writing About a freakish life-Style,

About a house in the Woods,

About skies covered, With the colors of the Places, they've never Been to.

Or the plates of food They've never eaten Before.

But, would bloody love To

And here I am with my Poisoned pen and paper

Trying to wander around New letters,

To write you new Stories,

To draw you new Pictures,

But, it's sad when I Come Back to the fact, That my Pen is highly Working Day and night,

And my papers are filled With all that they can be Filled with.

But, yours aren't even There,

There's another better Saddening part about This.

It is, when I had to call My pens and papers 'Poisoned',

Because, it seems to me That you fear coming Anywhere across them