Stationary Dance

Woman spills herself before me,
just her thoughts, her feelings,
nothing more.
No flood of guts or bile.

I don't care to listen.
My ears would rather not hear.
They don't like the way her words
beat against their drums, like
children with pots and pans in mama's kitchen.

I won't write about what she has to say,
but Pen and Paper have a different plan.

Pen smiles again. I am uncertain, 
but I swear Paper grins as well.
It isn't often that 
they are given the chance 
to enjoy such a moment.
Such a time as when I pretend to listen.

I scowl and resent their pleasure
as Pen scratches into Paper,
bleeding all over him.

Pen is some kind of sadist,
and Paper just takes it, 
proudly donning his scars of blue. 

They will be happy for a while.

And if permitted, they will stay together all night,
making me watch their sick game
as the woman spews and they
dance and yelp and bleed
all over my desk.