I went to the kitchen,

And picked up the knife

I closed the bathroom door,

And cut out a bit of my life

I ran the blade across my wrist,

And watched as it turned red

I cleaned my knife and arm

And went back to my bed

In the safety of my room

I stared at my cut arm

Not able to believe

That I had caused it harm

Sitting alone in the darkness

I felt the tears run down my cheeks

I angrily brushed them away

I hadn’t let myself cry in weeks

When the sun at last rose

I put on my same smile

I carefully hid my arm

And kept my secret for a while

That’s the end of it. I once again surprised myself. I never would have guessed that I would write another poem. Please R&R!