Razor Blade Tears

They fall, sharp as whispers turned cruel,

etched with the weight of words unsaid.

Razor blade tears carve rivers down my skin,

not of blood, but of liquid fears,

seeping from a heart fractured in silence.

Each drop holds a memory,

its edges jagged and unrelenting—

the way your voice once softened the dark,

the way your absence now swallows the light.

I try to cradle the ache,

but it cuts through my hands,

splintering into shards

that pierce even the safest corners

of my mind.

Time drips slower than these tears,

and each second twists the blade deeper.

I wonder if this hollow ache will heal,

or if I am destined to wear this pain,

a scar of what was,

what could have been.

The air feels heavy with unshed cries,

and yet, the tears still fall,

sharp, relentless,

etching their way into the fragile terrain

of a broken soul.

These razor blade tears,

these liquid fears—

they are all I have left of you.