Longing to make the razor my friend again,
Longing to draw it across my skin.
Old promises keep me from doing what I want,
Though for razors I do hunt.
Seeking shelter from myself,
Not caring about anything else.
Reliving my past,
Wishing these flashbacks wouldn't last.
Seeking comfort from paper,
Knowing people will find out about this later.
They try to help me out,
But they never know about,
The true way I feel deep within.
Always wishing for the end.
Seeking shelter to hide from past sins,
I hold this razor in hand,
Making ready for it to get reacquainted with my skin.
Images hold me back,
God forgive me for this promise I am going to break.
