The Dull Blade

Head throbbed.

Pushed open the door.

The mirror, thin,

bent slightly inward,

a funhouse distortion

of my face, framed

by old bottles,

yellowed creams.

My eyes, they looked

so tired.

Top shelf,

behind the hydrogen peroxide,

a rusted blade.

Razor, from decades past.

A brown speck on its edge.

Blood? Rust?

Doesn't matter.

Still there,

a small, sharp promise.

The aspirin clattered.