Can metal be this cold?

It sits in my hand
I stare at it for but a moment
As I bring it close to the wrist
Ever so filled with scars
The blade is so cold on my wrist
Enchanting me in a gaze unlike any other
I cannot cut
But I think of him and I continue
metal
can go so deep
as if you cutting into
The foundations of life
blood streams off the blade
Not much relief, but some never the less
As the blood hits the floor I think
Can metal be this cold?