Fold,

   Bend,

      Cut,

         Tape.

Fold,

   Bend,

      Cut,

         Tape.

Fold,

   Bend,

      Cut,

         Tape.

Repeating over and over,

In an unending loop of scourge,

In an unending loop of torture.

The fingers fold you,

As you struggle to get back up,

The glares from those fingertips press you down,

Like a heavy weight that will never be lifted.

The palms bend you,

The comments seared on them burns you,

No matter how hard you try to escape them,

Like fire that’ll never be defeated.

The scissors cut you,

Stabbing you with those blazer sharp ends,

The invisible words dripping on those edges,

Like an oath never to be said.

And then there’s the tape,

That attempts to piece you together,

That attempts to make everything better,

As if taping yourself together will make it alright.

But even with the tape,

You’re able to see the folded parts,

You’re able to feel the bended paper,

You’re able to remember the cut up parts.

The parts that the tape won’t ever be able to patch up,

They’re still visible,

Remaining just like a paper doll’s.

Tape,

   Cut,

      Bend,

         Fold.

Tape,

   Cut,

      Bend,

         Fold.

Tape,

   Cut,

      Bend,

         Fold.