The suicidal whisperings,
such acidic things.
Get out of my head.
Or I'll soon be dead.
There is a knife under my bed.
These strange desires will be fed.
I'm not suicidal, I think.
It's just these voice's suggestions begin to sink.
Into my brain that is.
I let out a small hiss.

The knife carved into my wrist.
I almost missed.
The voices were gone.
Oh no, what had I done!?

More. --- C3