paper cut

I run my hands
Over ink and madness,
Edges, endings
For my sadness.

I grasp the page
For paper cuts,
Rewrite the book
In my own blood.

The power of prose
To bring us pain-
The way a sentence
Strikes a vein.

My fingertips
I slice right through
When words are sharp,
An easy wound.

I grasp the pages
For relief,
The words are there,
They're striking me.

Words can cut deep,
But not enough.
A simple, sorry
Paper cut.