A blade?

This piece, the sharp edge where I yearn to carve,

but with a grudge, it doesn't deeply starve,

these eyes behold a chilling view,

I utter words, words that torment, construe.

I clutch this blade, ponder the murky daze,

once again, with the prolonged haze,

I find myself in this relentless chase,

I draw near, within this abyss, I blaze.

Yet all I discern is those tears so near

aware, that it may not be the right sphere

still, I clasp, this belief, this isn't here.