There on the counter a glint in the night

There on the counter, a glint in the night,

a razor’s sharp whisper, promising fright.

I hold it too close, with edges that gleam,

haunted by choices that slip like a dream.

Each line that it cuts feels like touching the void,

yet somehow it tempts me, so dangerously coy.

The blade’s chilly kiss whispers of fate,

reminding me always of love intertwined with hate.

I breathe in the danger, the dance with the edge,

it beckons like thunder, holds fear in a pledge.

Yet why do I linger, caught in this light?

the razor’s reflection, a mirror of fright.