Under my bed I hid the word "suicide" like dirt below rocks No one knew No one noticed It was just me and little mr knife visiting me like a prophet with its words. I was the perfect listener to his hypnotizing blade. I was still, with its touch. It was a secret monster with knowledge of my weak spots. I was young...and stupid. Yet old, with too much knowledge. I stepped away from my loved ones, and became blind to open doors. I was stuck there. In this little bubble, which I pop, but It popped me in every vein Mr Knife wanted. I was gone for so long, I was hurt. I felt like God replaced me into an unknown body. Until one day, I told Mr knife I loved myself too much for this to continue. I put him away, but now, my skin ached for it. So I spent my days screaming for its touch, But I loved myself, so I pormised never to fail again. So I hid it under my bed, Knowing it was there, breathing below me as I slept I kept it near just in case I needed