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Acrostic Suicide Poems | Acrostic Poems About Suicide

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

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The Pains of Night Without True Love

The ambient glow of the fireplace becomes hypnotic.
Home alone, always, without true love to snuggle me.
Each of many pains of night makes my mind neurotic.
Pathetic it may seem for a young and beautiful girl.
Alone again after years of searching; life becomes a whirl.
Incessant longing gnaws away at self-control.
Night brings its darkness to the weariness of my soul.
Satan takes a grip upon my sanity; I am no longer whole.
Oh, that I could find true love and live a life of joy.
Forever, I live searching, only to be someone’s toy.
Night without you, my true love, is a lonely curse.
If only I could find you, whoever you are, wherever you are. 
Grateful love, come; I beg you and quench my thirst.
Heaven is but a thought away…as is suicide.
Touch me with your warmth; Save me and let love abide.
Where is the dream that I dreamt as a child.
I never knew that the world could be so wild.
Today is just one step in eternity, but forever alone.
How can I face another day; I know not!
Over and over the thoughts circulate in my mind.
Utter self-destructions seeming the only solution.
Then, I fear the great and dreadful consequence.
To live eternity alone would be unbearable.
Reality visits at the break of dawn, briefly.
Underneath these fancy clothes lies a broken heart.
Each day takes me to a new horizon…until night.
Loneliness tortures me; at dark I am immobile.
Oh, the pains of night without true love destroy.
Vitality sinks into Satan’s sullen ship; sips sorrows.
Everything seems lost, but I pray for true love, tomorrow.

Copyright March 8, 2015

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: The Pain of Night
Sponsored by Tammy Reams

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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I can paint you a picture
In colors gay and bright
But my favorites are the ones
I make late at night
The tortured works of art that see into my soul
The ones that help me feel in control
The ones that help me cope with all that's inside
The ones that can help me say

Copyright © Shyla Contreras

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Copyright © Joy Adderton

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The Vacancy

Slowly my world shatters
Unravelling all around me
Inside my heart is 
Cold, empty, broken
I have fallen apart completely
Drowning in the waves of sorrow
Everything I once was is swept away

By Morgan Mise
Written November 13, 2012

Copyright © Morgan Mise

Details | Acrostic | |


Staring down the barrel.
Unsure i want to do this.
Its so selfish i think.
Caring not for others.
I lie myself against the wall.
Decisions, decisions i guess this is the end.
Eventually, somewhere i will find my mend.

Copyright © ashley roberts

Details | Acrostic | |


I am the color of roses, valentines, love.
I am the color of anger, war, intensity.
I am two polar opposites.

I am the delightful blush that graces a child's cheek, as a happiness that is stranger like dances through their eyes; effectively melting a mother's heart and putting her mind at peace within the same millisecond.

I am the color that haunts your mother's nightmare's and every waking second.
I am the color that triggers her crippling panic attacks.
I am the color that stains the inside of her innocent eyelids, never leaving her retinas.
I am the color she wishes to wipe from her memory.
I am the color that dripped from your wrist as your life dripped out of you.

I am the color that she can't scrub off of the bathtub wall without breaking down because she can still see the body that she birthed and raised laying there with empty eyes and a cold body. I represent the memories that she still can't scrub off of the porcelain, no matter how pearly the lining. She can still feel the terror and disbelief that wracked her mind and penetrated her soul as she gazed at your still form with an uncomprehending that no one could have the audacity to wish upon someone, let alone a mother. You may not have thought your plan through effectively enough, however,  because when you left that day, you took her with you.

And as she buries your mangled body, she remembers the crimson that lit your cheeks and heart afire when you were eight, and the crimson that signed your death warrant when you were fifteen. 

The reinforcement of the fact that red is two polar opposites is a bitter irony indeed.

Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso