Blood drips from a tiny slit,
A sting of pain, a raging fit,
A paper blade, sharp and thin,
A cruel tool for the chaos within.
The words on the page, they cut like knives,
Tearing flesh, ruining lives,
A million wounds, invisible scars,
Etched into our minds, like prison bars.
Paper, so fragile, yet so severe,
A weapon of choice, for those who fear,
The power of words, the power to harm,
Leaving us bleeding, with every alarm.
But we cling to the pages, like a lifeline,
Desperate for comfort, in this world of mine,...