My skin
....My nerves
Beg for the razor glisten
....To see the red

My tongue
....My throat
Plead for a taste
....For that bittersweet agony

But my angels (my damn saviors)
Stop me
and force my hands under a pillow
and my head upon them.

So I lay
....Patient, planning
Waiting for the fear
....And the questions
To be so deliberately planted.

Then they will leave
....Satisfied and sure they've helped.
And I pull the razor once again.