A Deadly Dance Poem by Lilith Van'Nightinveil

A razor edge, so sharp and fine,
A tool of beauty, a work divine,
Its gleaming edge, a deadly lure,
A dance of death, so swift and pure.

For some, it's just a tool of trade,
A barber's razor, a surgeon's blade,
A symbol of precision and skill,
A means to heal, to groom, to thrill.

But for others, it's a thing of dread,
A source of pain, a life half-dead,
A demon lurking, a constant threat,
A siren call that they can't forget.

Addicted to the razor's edge,
They walk a path that few dare tread,
A path of danger and of pain,
A path that leads to loss and shame.

They seek the high that comes with pain,
The rush that follows every vein,
The dizzying, euphoric wave,
That comes with every cut they crave.

They know it's wrong, they know it's bad,
They hate themselves, they feel so sad,
But still they do it, day by day,
Addicted to the razor's sway.

They hide their scars, they wear long sleeves,
They keep their secret, never grieve,
They know they're hurting those they love,
But still they're drawn to the razor's glove.

They try to quit, they seek for help,
They join support groups, they pray and yelp,
They fight the urge, they struggle hard,
But still the razor is their guard.

For some, it's just a tool of trade,
For others, it's a deadly blade,
A symbol of their inner pain,
A means to hurt, to numb, to stain.

So if you see someone in pain,
Someone whose scars are hard to feign,
Don't judge them, don't turn away,
Be there for them, help them find a way.

For the razor is a deadly friend,
A lover who will never bend,
A constant threat, a life of strife,
A dance of death, a razor's life.