Upon a Razor's Edge
What might be
What may have been
As I doodle in these empty cubes of time
Is not for me to know.
The steady pulse of night
Can extirpate with careless hands
The flower it has so laboriously grown.
For he agony of routine words upon the phone
To fill my heart with disbelief and tragedy.
To shatter the illusion of a lifetime
To knife the threads of logic to non sense
To charge with fact
Tranquility to chaos.
Weak with an anger that feeble limbs betray
This belching heart within frail limbs
Is in an instant caged.
Trapped by a knowledge that time will not reverse
My bulk becomes a coffin for my brain
I am a hearse
Until the fog of bathroom tiles
In cubicles of vision
Spills its life without remorse
Upon a razor's edge
What might have been
And I may breathe again.