She teeters on the cliffside,
She scans the ground below.
She searches the wind like a chapter book,
For what, she doesn’t know.

With one foot off the edge, she stands,
She looks around and sighs.
She thumbs through pages, slits her fingers,
Bleeds through ink and lies.

Tipping off the edge, she knows
She doesn’t have the guts
To live a life where she’s never free
From the sting of papercuts.