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,
Paper cuts, a reminder of our fragile state,
But also a reminder, of the power we create.
For out of the pain, comes a rebellious roar,
A rock and roll anthem, from deep in our core,
We scream and we shout, with every ounce of might,
Taking back control, with every word we write.
So let the papercuts sting, let the words bleed,
For in this rock and roll world, we'll find our need,
To fight against the paper, and all its harm,
And rock out with our words, in a powerful charm.
So here's to the papercuts, a symbol of our fight,
Against the paper world, that tries to dim our light,
With rock and roll pumping through our veins,
We'll rise above it all, and break through the chains.

Authorship by Mr Dashaun Rashod Snipes
©Mr. Dashaun Rashod Snipes
® Papercut
© Son Of The Mourning