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poetry

The Graphite Man

Through blurred lines

His fingers run through time

Slow and sublime

Yet he hides behind

And sits beside

The words “I’m fine”

A man made of graphite

Sat finite

On the edge of his mind it

Was a cold and desolate place

The artist drew his face

Replaced it with troubles and woes

Unbound and unspoken

He was already broken

Yet incomplete filled his seat much better

***

“The Graphite Man” was a short poem I wrote after a late-night creativity session. I later created a much longer version, but I believe the original conveys the spirit of the poem much better. Everyone, to some extent, comes in contact with The Graphite Man. He is the embodiment of silent suffering, of the darkest parts of our conscious that only appear when everything else vanishes. In a world where connection with others is through cold, unfeeling screens and scheduled meetings, it’s easier to suppress negative emotions than reach out to others and speak about our well-being. However, scars created from emotions held too long are kept for an eternity compared to the negativity in the moment.