.once again.

my pencil broke.
my pencil...
broke.
once again,
this time with more conviction...
my pencil.
it broke.

i started writing.
and i stopped
because of a graphite ailment.
it seemed to me
that they didn't make things
like they used to,
but we'll still keep
buying them,
those things that are made
so inferior to their priors.

now, for the last time,
my pencil broke.
broke right the fuck in half...

there are two kinds of people in this shithole of a town:

the "do-ers" and "dewar's";
those who make the shot, and those who take the shot.

my pencil.
it fucking broke;
so i'm typing instead.