The living knife

Shiny blade of the kitchen knife,
now about to end her dreary life.
Trembling in her hands so cold,
as though it has a life of its own.
Just yesterday it peeled her potatoes,
Soon it would rip out her soul.
Which part of her would it tear apart?
A slit in her wrist, or straight through her heart?
It digs deep into her chest and lets the blood slide,
With eyes wide in terror, she becomes death's bride.
She lies there on the kitchen floor,
a crimson lake slides across to the door.
Ghostly pale, unblinkingly she stares,
the evil knife couldn't care less.
The heavans above pleaded her benediction,
It simply stood in her,
thirstily drinking in satisfaction.