Born from drugstore cellophane,
a baby razor, pink and new.
At 2 days old,
it cuts its razor teeth
on fuzzy ladies’ legs,
spitting used stubble
into the drain.
Day 7, a sort of circumcision,
but more an amputation,
a separation of head and body,
minus sudden death.
Slipped into a pocket, stashed away.
On its 9th day,
it’s a razor remembered,
and taken out for a little attention.
It enjoys its companion,
an swimming in her warm, red waters.
Day 11, the affair is discovered!,
and everything goes dark
for the razor,
and it’s buried with tissues
and toenails.
Death of a razor.
Author notes
Still not one of my best...but it freaked so many people out I figured it had to be worth something. Heh.
Written May 9th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
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couldnt read it man...
I cant see your poem, too dark of a text on a black baground, lol, i do like the theme for the background. I suppose i could just copy and paste your peom to word sob that i can read it, but ou should still lighten up one of the two aspects., wi dont know if its wither the text, or the background. Ok, i read your peom, and i like it, good job! *thumbs up*
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