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Narrative Suicide Poems | Narrative Poems About Suicide

These Narrative Suicide poems are examples of Narrative poems about Suicide. These are the best examples of Narrative Suicide poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

Where Were You

He looked at me with
begging eyes,

Hiding in his own world.

All knew his looks,
But none knew him.

No one realized
who he was.

Alone, desperate.

Then one day,
Everyone closed in on him

Their daggers pointing
At the only feeling he had:

Sorrow.

He let out a sob
One small sob that told them everything

They walked away.
But they never ceased to push and shove him

Dislocating his heart and putting sorrow to his words.

They never realized
What they were doing

Until it was too late.

He put a sword to his heart and said,
"I love you, mom and dad, but now it's time for me to go."

Stabbing his heart,
He cried.

He lay there, his cold and still body radiating sorrow

The others never glanced,
But I looked at him.

I carried him out,
Not understanding why others would do this.

When we held a funeral,
Some said he was kind and so I asked,

"Where were you when he needed you?"


Details | Narrative | |

It Was Me

You were taken to soon.
Ripped away from us.
You knew it was our final goodbye.
But the truth was hidden.
With a tear in your eye,
There was one last goodnight hug.
I wiped away the tear,
Then smiled and walked away.
By the time of the morning light
It was already too late.
You were gone and to a better place.
Never knew of your acknowledged your pain.
Of your suffering
Sometimes I wonder,
"If I only cared more
Would you still be here?
If I only hurt less,
Would you still be here?"
I'd deny it if I could.
But inside we both know,
I am the reason
You went away.


Details | Narrative | |

My beloved wife

My beloved wife

It was the crows calling that gave the final warning on this mid October morning.
Just as the mist began falling upon the hills in a strange manner that was almost unnerving.
This morn shall be my final calling as my soul begins souring high above the clouds on this mid October morning.
Signalled by the single rose placed upon my coffin.
Not a healthy rose but one that's wilting, It's red petals fading and it's leaves browning.
It was placed upon my coffin by a loan woman who stands morning on this bitter October morning.

She turns towards home and begins walking, towards my old manor house that now stands rotting.
She passes the spot in the garden where she hid the knife the other morning, just before the police came calling.
Alerted by the chamber maid screaming upon discovering by body laying bleeding.
Murder was the diagnosis, probably by a burglar was the prognosis.
The window was broken and my jewellery was stolen.
They didn't bother to ask about the missing kitchen knife, it was all falling into place for my dearly beloved wife.

As she approached she questions what she saw, large boards placed upon the entrance door.
Upon the door a sign held by a single rusty nail, it read this property is now for sale.
Due to deceased occupants an auction will now take place, in gods grace she calls out from behind her veil of lace.
This can't be true, I felt the morning dew seep through into my newly bought shoe, she pauses for breath as she begins to think things through.
Now the truth begins dawning that it was her soul and not her body that left the hill this morning.
We are now two souls exploring, one up and one down on this bitter October morning.


Details | Narrative | |

The Addiction Of Bipolar

I wake to cold sweats scratches
From Sleeping on this broken mattress
Outside is cold but its my home, My palace
My brain crashes from this addiction
I so I need that fix to get me back high
I'm trying to fix the broken pieces missing inside
I've seen heroin take my best friends life
Yet I still inject it, Why? 
Why wont this addiction just Roll over
Now I'm diseased with this thing called bi polar
A world trapped in eternal sadness
For others beautiful for some so numb
While I'm covered in an eternal blackness
They say I need to take these pills before 
I turn to madness
But there my thorn digging my side
As sharp as a cactus 
No wonder I have this cuts of pure madness
Because it aches stomach pains Nausea vomiting, Insomnia
Give me a story of drama
But then my dis honer
Had to cut my wrist to see that this blood
is thicker than is vodka
Slowly sinking under water
Holding a ton of bricks on my shoulder
Only makes me stronger
In order to move on we have to see the rain
live through the pain
before we get that sunshine once again!