Figured i'll add this weird poem thing considering i'm pretty bored in class right now

The Hand
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And how the hand was the minds undoing,
The quick slash of a page.
For even though the mind was at bliss,
The hand was deranged.
Unaware of what the hand plotted,
The mind lay asleep.
The hand grabbed a paper, sharp and white,
And layed it on the face.
And even though the hand worked all night,
The mind heard not a peep.
The hand kept piling on,
Until the mind lay crushed.
And then the hand grabbed a knife,
One with blood stained deep.
And killed its sister hand who had laid witness to the crime,
And none would be the wiser to this murderous affair.
For who would have thought,
that something such as the mind,
Could be crushed,
With but simple pieces of paper.