Razor & Mirror                         April 13, 2000

The razor in your hand,
alone inside the bathroom;
the blade awaits command
from emotions in full bloom.

Hovering, about to slice
into soft and unarmed skin;
a few strokes should suffice �
only then can healing begin.

Scarlet droplets gather
and one drips on your knee
You stare into the mirror �
Who is it that you see?
Poetry

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