Lead

Like a snail leaving a trail, or a snake slithering in sand.
It slides across the paper leaving a mark the colour of elephants, stones and pebbles.
In a packet it looks like sticks or straw, it’s sort of like a crayon.
It will never paint no matter what. By itself cracks can run through it like veins, until it splits.
It’s strong inside, but fragile by itself, smells of stories and poems.
Filling in writing books and creating memories. Writing until it looks like a grain of sand.
Like charcoal if it gets on your fingers, they will have a grey, dense mist on them.