Don'T Know What To Call It... Poem by ana orozco

She stares at its beauty
The coldness of it radiating between her thumbs
She holds it closer to her face
To see the magnificence more clearly
The straight edge isn’t as straight as it appears
It dips high and low
Its jagged edges screaming with anticipation
She touches it to the soft pale skin that covers her wrist.
The razor gleams with delight as she contemplates the mess that will be made.
Just one slash. That’s all it would take to rid her of past sorrow.
A beautiful line in her soft, pale skin is all it will take
To reveal the beautiful red of her veins.
To allow the brightness to flow out of her
Like a maddened river released from a dam.
She grows nearer to guiding that glorious razor down the length of her arm
To the soft rise of her wrist.
Then the razor is done.
It has done its job.
With a quick flick of her wrist, she rids her anticipation.
Her white, pale skin is suddenly overwhelmed with the brightness of her relief.
Her blood poured onto her lap where her jeans lapped up the bitterness.
She smiled as her arm swam in defiance of the darkness that had once overwhelmed her.
The sticky sweet concoction running from her veins seemed to dissipate in her eyes. Her body running out of pain.
Her world seems to suddenly feel lighter, more at ease.
The guilt, anger, and sorrow seems to wane.
It lifts up into the sky and she’s left there on her bed,
Cold, and tired, relieved and ready.
Ready for what you might ask.
To close her eyes, to close her eyes and dream.