Who stole the peace?
This paper cut hurts, hurts worse, worse than love!
How can empty crumpled reams weigh as much!?
The ghostly feels scream for a share of blood.
Go on, squeeze the heart, with vise and glove—
And note the blatant void's still white as such!
This paper cut hurts, hurts worse, worse than love!
Out of the drawer, we draw with light above,
A glimmer of pen, knife, and nib in clutch!
The ghostly feels scream for a share of blood.
Seeking the tender underbelly of—
a world best left within the writer's hutch!
This paper cut hurts, hurts worse, worse than love!
A vain responsibility we'd shove
To gladly rid, rid ourselves double dutch—
The ghostly feels scream for a share of blood.
Thoughts do not run like some red ribbon'd dove
...whatever the mind would hazard and touch...
This paper cut hurts, hurts worse, worse than love!
The ghostly feels scream for a share of blood.