The Razor.

It is a sharp razor,
That cuts the soul,
Cleaving through flesh,
Piercing its jelled shell,
With surgical precision.

The razor,
Is the terror,
Of any thinker's dreams:
The emotional threat,
That promises insanity,
And breakdown.

I see its awful edge,
Glint at the foot of my bed,
And I quaver with fear,
For the blood of innocent souls,
Have stained its steel,
With engrossing permanence.