Razor

No.

He pressed it to the cool, white flesh.

So vulnerable, in its humanity.

 

How many times?

It was uncountable.

It was sick, his twisted ecstasy…

 

He pressed slightly harder, held it slightly longer…

Then released.

 

So many lies,

So many worthless comforting words…

 

Two ghosts of red,

Of vital life energy,

Swelled out.

 

He leaned his head back with relief.

 

It didn’t even hurt anymore.

Author's Note

I'd love feedback. <3

Reviews

[samurai212]

Good poem

[Mr. ECHO]

interesting. check out my writings.