Life as... Riddle, what am I?

A Story by poetdweller

whos point is this from?

The sharp tip was getting nearer and nearer, to the point where I could see the seraded edges gleaming in the indoor lights. The floor was cold, and round, especially round, and was a torture chamber about to happen. Sure, I had friends who would take me piece out of my jail, but then they would devour me, slowly and painfully with much delight. Filthy rascals. The knife touched the top of my and goosebumps went down my edges. It slowly was pushed in, taking a large portion of me. What a greedy human to think I did not need that part of me, if I had blood I would have made a huge mess…. I would never be whole again.... maybe I can mold just to spite them..What am I?