Papercut

A dull, subtle pinch
wakes me up from stupor.
Did that really happen?
I glimpse a thread of red on my thumb.

It did, and I glance about;
I can taste the dreary air,
Impatience and indignance strike me.
We here have little reason
to be so drooped and gloomy.

I try to smile and stand up straighter,
hope to make someone’s day brighter.
This fine, stinging stripe serves indeed to prove
Even slight pains are a blessing.

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