Paper Cuts

Sometimes, unaware, it happens.
A tiny cut upon the skin that
Splits it bringing forth pain
So sharp and quick.
The shock numbs it for a nanosecond
Then the pain washes over.

Sometimes there is blood.
Red blossoms blooming from a tiny crack
Flowing continuously until a garden is made.
The paper, unaware and nonchalant
Continues to be itself.

Then, as soon as it comes,
It is over.
The pain fades and
Only the cut is left.

The most mundane of actions
Are those that cause
The most pain.

The pain is swift and sharp
Then in a blink of an eye...

Over.