Can I just once stare absently at a page?
Without seeing the blinding whiteness as some sort of demonic sign of emptiness
The edges cut far deeper than one may begin to think.
A slit that stings from your friend, paper
We may personify it as a friend
A surface to inscribe those faulty secrets
Confide your unstable mind in
The edges cut far deeper than one may begin to think,
We can laugh at that statement.
We, as in me and the paper
Who I know won’t hurt me
Unless I sharpen the derogatory terms
And turn them on myself
But the paper
The blank page
Threatening, or not?
It may be considered a blessing
To not have to feel forced to divulge in what only is yourself
You can laugh together,
You and the page
Because it is funny
The illusion that you can use this innocent piece of white
To metaphorically slit your wrists