Paper Cuts Poem by Daniel McCann

I stand and look at this uniform in discust
paper cuts. Paper cuts. Can you see my paper cut?
Soon. Soon this uniform will touch my open skin.
I go to sleep but suddenly I awake to the morning,
in this trench I hear the sound of guns, the rain is falling,
like myself,
my uniform is discovering blood from and because of my guts,
you thought a poets biggest pain was a paper cut?

You never knew that I knew pain
don't you know that I know pain all too well
well, I know it well like the devil knows hell
well, like a drug dealer who knows how to sell
like a life sentence inside a cell,
you cant touch the pain I feel the pain I felt.
Quiker than the bullit the word spreads
so take your shot make sure you dont waste it
bullit to bone word to mouth I can taste it.

You aim towards no mans land, you stand behind the barb wire
you are the boss and the bullits are your emplyees that you must fire
you are a soldier a soldier that holds great desire
this war is one big debit card that will one day expire
although there isnt a date, I can see a gate. I can see you.
I can see you being led astray by propaganda
you are talking but I can not understand ya. I can see you.
I can see you firing your final round.
I can see that movie moment the one with slow motion and no sound.
I can see you from here. Up here, up high in the sky, down on the ground.

I can see you. You are sat with me in the mud. You speak.
Your eyes shut,
they open like the notepad but the words open up a much deeper cut.
I look. I see. I look at your uniform, I see your guts,
I see your blood.
We sit here with open eyes, the amminition flies through the sky.
Paper cuts. Paper cuts. I sit still as you stand on the front line,
I close my eyes as I realize the blood on your uniform, was infact mine.