Razor Poem by Crimson Haze

We take turns passing the razor,
one cut at a time to soothe our pain,
When we smell the blood,
the razor is soon forgotten.
Now our teeth is all we need.
We taste each others hot thick blood.
with each dropp we see another story,
of how we became this way.
our eyes quickly fill with red.
We stop to see each other,
try to figure out what each of us is planning next.
But that story is for another day.