I am a used eraser.
A person who has had me from the very beginning of my time has
Used, abused, and then tossed aside my very existence.
They once loved me.
Needed me for their daily life.
Now that they have used me: I am done and over with.
Now, they only need me to abuse so they can be happy.
Feel better, some sort of twisted joy they get from abusing a wee little eraser.
Hurting it everyday, without any apologies. Not that they would matter.
The user, only speaks to me when they need something or is angry.
Piece by piece I float away on the wind.
Until all that is left is some piece of rubber that can fit in nowhere.
Yet, the user and abuser has one last laugh by tearing that small ring of rubber up.
Piece by piece.
Still yet, piece by smaller piece. Kicking it while it's down.
Having the last laugh by scattering them all in different places.
So that even if the eraser were to be whole again,
It would never find every piece that the user and abuser scattered.
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