Paper and Pencils

Stares.

Like piercing holes through

paper with pencils, gripped

hard.

 

Uncertainty, the games…

Deceit.

Back-and-forwards toss;

give me a different card,

and I’ll have to deal with it.

All your infernal mind-games.

 

You become the object of the game.

 

The world favours the charismatic.

Or so I’ve been told.

Like piercing holes through

paper with pencils;

accidentally written words too raw and edged

and bitten back in time to shed blood.

 

I guess I’ll only wish to heal them then.

Those words I have to say to you.

Those words I’ve already said to you.

 

*Artwork unknown*

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