Edge of Self

Sitting alone, the blade catches light,

a reflection of choices, and what isn’t right.

Cutting ties isn’t just a line in the sand,

it’s a razor's sharp edge that I still hold in hand.

Mocking me softly as I stand in the sink,

it’s clearer than glass, it pushes me to think.

A break from the past, but the scars still remain,

a weight on my heart, yet I’m willing to drain.