Broken promise

Breaking a promise

I sit in my bedroom floor,
A pen in one hand
A razor in another.

Both of these objects can tell a story.
Each one can make a unique ending to whatever fairytale I decide.

With this pen
I can write down every promise I ever made to you.
Cross them off the list as i break each one.

With the razor I can make a tally   for every time
That I think of you.
Of food.
Of anything that's ever made me want to die.
At some point I'll loose track of time.
But I'll try.

Tell me how to write a story that doesn't end in disaster.
Tell me how to make myself remember that I'm real without it ending in red.

At one point or another in my life
I've been told to put each of these down,
Out of my reach.
Stay away.

For now I'll sit there
With both objects on my desk.
In case I need to write, or paint.
Or keep track of time.

At some point I'll loose track again.
A story left unfinished.
Another promise broken.
I'm sorry