A blades vicious cycle

A Poem by Paige

You won't speak to me
But god do you love what I say
Like the time I told you to check that little green car out
Or when I whispered the truth and left you in your rage spinning about

I keep the tendency of pencils behind my ear, just in case
While you keep your ears closed
And a hand over your face

For a man at a desk you never got much rest
The tiny men under your pillow became more of a reminding pest

So you soaked them in gin
And tossed them to the blender
And as every small man's heart was buzzed into bits
You finally killed their sender