With a swift flick of the boy’s fingers the pen took off,
it danced on the paper and then on the table,
before making its way up his arms.
It drew dots on his wrists and swirls in the crook of his elbow.
Leaping towards the boy’s neck it drew elaborate scenes
of giraffes and lions,
and drinking the same water.
The boy stood, agape,
as the pen took over his body.
Behind his ear, the pen drew stars,
so he would always be close
to the night sky
that his mother had loved so dear.
The pen twirls to his finger tips,
scratching letters into his knuckles
of words and dreams that would never be.
Then down once more, to the paper it fell
and the boy was alone, again.