Razor

I shaved with a cheap razor today. The blades parted my skin cells one by one. It was a slow divide that I drew out intentionally. Once I realized that I had gone too deep, I pressed harder, determined to teach myself a lesson. It was no small cut. Blood spilled into my mouth. Hours later the wound healed and the blood clotted. My lazy and self-spiteful shaving techniques have joined the lineup of issues that are preventing me from smiling.

If I had been shaving my throat, I’d be preventing myself from breathing. I don’t draw the line anywhere, my razor does.