Paper Cut
Ooh,
That metallic taste again,
It's the blood
From a paper cut
Because I spend too much time in here
With my notebook
And stubby pencils
With my thoughts of you
And why things work out the way they do
It's a wonder that I'm still sane
But they're like my friends, you know?
And when all else is forsaken and lonely
Atleast I have them
Something tangible
Proof that I'm not crazy
Or maybe proof that I am
Sometimes I wonder
She said I had artists' hands
But I think I have writers' hands
Just look at all the tiny slitted scars
And I've realized that inspiration can come at such a high cost
But I know I could never live without
And I'd watch myself falter into death
Before I gave any of it up
My, does the notebook tell a story,
You don't always need to read the words
It's the bloodstains and the tearstains
And even the heartstains
That speak off the pages
And call me back
And make me love the paper cuts
By heyachristina
© 2008 heyachristina
(All rights reserved)
| |