⚠️TW⚠️
I place the eyebrow razor down,
Face clean shaven,
Doing my skincare.
I stumble back over to it hours later,
The handle digging into my hand as the blade runs over my skin.
"Just enough for it to hurt a bit.."
But I pick at the scabs days later,
The razor sitting on my counter,
A reminder of my weakness.
I pick at my lips,
Biting the skin on my fingers,
But the razor finds it's home,
In my shaky palm,
Sliding over my skin like a comb.
"No more. I'm done with this."
I throw it all away,
Watching as the cuts fade into scars that I cover with make up every time I wear shorts.
I dig through my parents bathroom things,
Tears streaming down my face as I try to stay quiet.
The moment the cold metal hits my skin I breathe,
I feel whole,
The handle finding its home,
As small droplets fall,
Staining the sink,
The razor calming my burning eyes.
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Author:
Sophia. (
Offline) - Published: November 28th, 2025 23:03
- Comment from author about the poem: I made a account specific to post this. I'm not coming back to it.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments2
A sad poem of self abuse whether to feel the pain of being alive, to suffer for being who one is, or any one of another thousand reasons it calls out for help. Well written
Good luck. Get real and get out there.
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