You thought it'd be so easy to love a girl made of paper—
Crumple her mind in your fist, leave your mark on her vacant skin.
You were threatened by her lightness, by the staunch white;
Told yourself she'd be better for the splotch of color, even thank you one day.
Her edges would be thin, barely breaking skin if she cut you back—a quick sting and it's over,
no lasting scars.
Little did you know ink flows through her veins—
Miles and miles of words sharper than your scissors raging through arteries,
Pounding in her ears, crashing like waves against her teeth.
You thought it'd be so easy to burn a girl made of paper—
You tore her open only to drown.