The thing about paper bullets is,
they make bullet holes of papercuts,
then cut right through
the heart of the gaping void.
Where once was all blood and tissue,
now stands a giant wormhole
of absconding matter.
Where once was a throbbing, pounding epiglottis,
now rests a dehydrated raisin
of bled-out larynx.
And if you thought
paper couldn't
buy you, bury you, and buy your burial
at the very same instant,
you sure have never
cashed a paycheck,
been in an autopsy room,
or watched empires fall.
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