i am going to use
the straight razor
today

in the pit of despair
i didn’t trust
myself
to hold
the keen blade
against
my scarred skin
for fear of going
too deep

but
the electric
never really
removes the entirety
that dwells
just at the surface
naked
to the human eye
but still
scratches
the fingertips
the feeling that remains
the leftover pieces
that cling to the scalp
unwanted

no longer
afraid
of incidental knicks
sending
the surge of crimson
to run across my
ugly face

but in desperate
need of a fresh start
new scars
all to feel
less like
the old me
i cannot face

i have gotten good
at shaving
in the dark
fly by feel
not sight

the next growth
won’t
be tainted
by anything more
than the sick
inside of me