Your Means For Release

Every single day is the same thing. A little past that dreadful hour of three, You come home, looking for me… So much depends on little ol’ me, You search the bathroom high and low. You need to find me. I am hidden, From your mother, your brother, from everyone while you were away. You never want them to know how we play. I remain hidden…unused for most of the day, Because once they find me, Our game will end. Oh look! You found me! Here I am, darling! I can feel it. Oh how the anger in your hands feeds me! The anger takes you over, Consumes you like the beast you’ve become, Now you are gripping me tight, waiting to begin our game. I’m the one that lets you sleep at night, I’m the one who lives to put those glorious scars upon your wrist, I’m the one you’ve come to depend on. I love to leave behind my mark. This is what makes me proud, Leaving you with the sign of our games. Oh, the fun begins! Look at those beautiful drops. Watch as they run. Those gorgeous drips of glorious scarlet liquid, Running off the ends of your fingertips. Oh, how I love our games. I love it when the droplets fall, Keeping our tango alive like a burning flame. What possesses humans to act like this? To scream, to cry, to press me to their wrists? Isn’t it obvious? My job has always been clear, The reason I was brought here, Was to relieve you of this pain. I’m always left to wait until that dreadful hour. Where you come in, just around three, Looking for me. Only because, I’m the razor, on which so much depends, That gives you a way to the end.