Everyone has a bomb to drop,
Attachments detached from all emotions
Embraced with the kiss of hot wax.
The face melting stroke in pen
Tattooed until blue,
Impressions left on the surface.
But it remains washable, non-toxic
Like the clever creases in each page.
Tie up your rage in a curlicue
It's petty and trite,
A papercut and nothing new.
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