The Sharp and Cold Razor

Sun, 03/10/2019 - 17:38 -- bshier

Whose razor is that? I think I know.

It's owner is quite sad though.

It really is a tale of woe,

I watch her frown. I cry hello.

 

She gives her razor a shake, 

And sobs until the tears make.

The only other sound's that break,

Of distant waves and birds awake.

 

The razar is sharp, cold and deep,

But she has promises to keep,

Until then she shall not sleep.

She lies in bed with ducts that weep.

 

She rises from her bitter bed,

With thoughts of sadness in her head,

she idolises being dead.

Facing the day with never ending dread.

 

But this a many year ago,

Now she runs to and fro.

She has defeated her old foe,

The razor that casued all her woe.

 

Nowasdays her biggest fear,

Is going back to what once was near.

One things is clear,

The sharp and cold razor is no longer here.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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