(...Title is at the end... )

It's a poem.
About stuff... And paper..

You hack me into pieces,
Using your destructive ways,
Force me to collapse,
In these dark days.

You tear into my body,
Whilst I lie motionless on the floor,
Cut me, should I bleed anymore?

You skin me when I have done no wrong,

Laugh at what I have done,
Before sending me off in a place of your creation.
You break me into small pieces,
You slice me into thin creases.

You treat me as though I am useless,
You write upon my new disgraced form.
No respect for what I have done.

You throw me away,  
discard me as though I am worth all but

But one day I will get what I deserve.

One sweet day,
I will receive my reward.

I will do to you what you have done to me.
But I will show mercy.
I will not conflict such pain onto you.
For I know how it feels.

I will wait for my queue.
Then I will cut you.

Make you bleed.
Allow you to feel my searing pain,
As I have done.

But I will show mercy.
I will stop after the first drop
of your blood.

As I will do to you
what you
have done to me.

You should have left me,
Shun me out,
Never have to have shout.

Never have knocked me,
Left me standing tall,
Reaching for the stars,
Feet on the ground.

Doing my job;
Supplying your needs.
But YOU tore me down…
 out of greed.

You should’ve listened to my
silent whispers;
As my body ached,
As my limbs dropped.

I plunged to an untimely end.

So I leave you with one last

One last slice of me.

As others must carry on my duty,
of insuring your survival.

They take the place of me,
Standing tall,
Like the mighty

Oak Tree.

~Paper Cut~

The End

2 comments about this poem Feed