Razor

The door is locked behind her

Rockers scream tales of betrayal and death

Into her throbbing ears.

She likes her music like her heart -

Bleeding.

And her wrist, like her music.

The tears are dry on her face by now;

Only the blood is flowing…

The pain is such a sweet release

There’s no betrayal in a stainless steel kiss

Her back is pockmarked with dagger-wounds

Every stab a laceration.

Now her forearm looks

Like a discarded piece of paper

With a dozen unbegun tic-tac-toe games;

Every mark a careless remark

Every nick a name -

Every gash a witness,

Evidence of her weakness

Her arm’s length

An expression of strength.

 

They laugh - how they laugh! -

At all of her strangeness

They delight in all her falls

Piercing like darts

All their cutting remarks

But the razor cuts deepest of all.

 

In the face of all their hounding

Her silence is resounding;

She rubs her arm through her shirt-sleeve.

“Let them say what they want,”

She says to herself,

“Only the razor can hurt me.”

Reviews

[Centfie]

Very nice. Intriguing. You are good with puns. As a psychologist in the making, I greatly like this theme. Wondering, why you chose to use 'she'...

[Joseph Eluzai]

only the razor in these days of pleasure. A good read. Keep it coming, Alvin!