Death by Papercuts A Poem by G. Anderson

Like the slow torture of
losing the love,
the spark,
joy.

Never deep enough to kill,
but always slow,
seeping,
pain.

Heals up quick,
but they're easy to get.
One after another,
seeping,
pain.

But what if you have problems with healing?

Cut after cut,
into the milky white skin,
not deep enough,
but just barely deep.

Thin crimson lines,
you stole my heart,
but I had it first.

It's the things you don't do.

No look,
no smile,
no glance,
walk by me.

They cut and cut,
infecting,
oozing,
seeping
pain.

So this is death
by papercuts.

© 2010 G. Anderson

Author's Note

I probably will die by papercuts.

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