I am a razor blade. I am smooth on the surface and sharp on the inside. I can cut open your heart with my gaze; I am sharper than you think. I can easily cut into your brain and infect you with my twisted logic. I can cause more relief than pain, and more pain than relief. I like to make you think I am your only option, when I shouldn't be an option at all. Your infected mind doesn't know the difference. I am not your only enemy, but I am your only friend. That is what I like to whisper against your skin when you're sad. It feels better to cry scarlet, you tell me before, but cry real tears when the dead is done. Why are you mad at me? I am only an object. I cannot move on my own. How can you blame me for your choices? You always tell me who is at fault every time you pick me up, but why does your name never escape your lips? Sometimes when I lie under your pillow I like to think... Who is the real bully here?