I'm still usable. Worn near to the nub, but still scratching out truth while digging for freedom in the earth of the page. Still giving my lead in the hope of striking gold under the next word. Still sharpening, though I near the end of my utility. I can no longer erase mistakes. All that emerges remains-- the chosen and the regretted. I'm wearing away, giving all I have in shavings and syllables.