POEM – The Razor

I saw a razor the other day, on the counter at work. 

Just a simple blade, nothing fancy. 

I could feel the familiar burn on my skin, the metallic taste in my mouth. 

I felt the sting of the water hitting the fresh open wound. 

That high I’ve been chasing for years but won’t catch. 

What a rush it would be to watch the drip drip drip. 

But I know now my mother sees everything. 

I can’t disappoint her. 

I can’t backtrack. 

I can’t undo 15 years of work. 

So I packed up the razor and put it out of sight. 

Not out of mind.