Paper Dolls

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I shot a man last night.
It was easier than you’d think,
To play God.

Though cowardice taints
Those pathetic, pulsing veins
Revolver pointed at-

As a child
I had pretty paper dolls
That ripped so easily
As I tried to dress them up.
Destructive endeavor
When I would feel the
Silhouette of something.
They didn’t weep, bleed
Didn’t shriek for their mothers,
Like men do.
I do not tear so easily,
No folded tabs to hold my skirt.
Paper cuts,
That’s all,
If you get lucky.

Your crisp,
Papered wounds don’t get me high
Like mine do to you.
The taste of iron leaves
My mouth dry.
I drink it,
With my coffee,
Washing down my breakfast with
Pancakes and pills.
Mornings aren’t for contemplation.
Mornings are meant for cleaning guns,
Clearing away cold memories.

I didn’t shoot a man last night.
It was easier than you’d think,
To play God.

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