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A Kind Razor of Loss

by S.D. Schultz

Student Creative Work

Thu, Nov 14th 2019 01:00 pm

I found it in a drawer, 
A small metal. 
It opens another door, 
I shouldn't meddle
But I toil the murky soil.
I found it in a drawer. 
A kind razor, my spoil. 

Making a list of lost names on my wrist, 
To graze the razor upon the skin, 
Pain releasing pain is hardly a sin 
But is it sane? 

The scars upon my brain like the stars, they leave a stain on a still frame that engulfs in flame my tame yet timid pain that flows faster than my brain can write. 

Is it right? 
Is it wrong? 
Have I held this razor too long? 

The cut never ends, every loss a razor 
Found in a dark drawer 
That dark door in my mind 

The razor is mine.
Pass it on, 
Lose a life. 

For what is life without strife? 
A knife to the soul.

 Every loss carves, 






A deeper hole. 
The reaper is never full

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Taken by Vincent Croce:
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