Deep Cut

You act as if my life is a book, You slam it on the table and open it to see what's inside, Your rough hands rip out the pages and crumple them between your fingers. The sun shines within my eyes, Sometimes it warms you, Sometimes it burns you to the core until you wither and die, Sometimes it is as sharp as a razor blade, It cuts you, and it slits your wrists, But then you remember that you were the one who held the knife