The murderer in me is suffocating,
The strength in his grip is overwhelming,
There is an urgency to his cries.

His whispers are disguised poison,
Sweet to the tongue but bitter to the soul,
He knocks ever so lightly,
But just enough to alarm calm me.

I have no where to hide,
Outward is too bare to the world,
Yet inward is too crowded for my own liking,
Where shall I hide you,
If not bury you deeper?

If everyone has a problem with you,
Then you are the problem, they say,
I wish he understood that.