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Best Suicide Poems

Below are the all-time best Suicide poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of suicide poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Suicide Poem |

bloody wrists

I'm sitting on the floor
I'm crying so much more
trying to erase this pain
trying to forget your face
sitting here with the blade in my hand
running so slow blood dripping down
in a deep red color
flowing freely the way i want to feel

I'm sitting on the floor 
holding my hand out
I'm holding a bottle
a bottle filled with pills
I'm crying so hard
the pain is unbearable
I'm feeling so weak 

I'm sitting here on this floor 
holding a blade
crying like crazy
trying to take this pain away
I'm trying my best trying to fight
my eyelids feel heavy
my door is so far
the whispered yells to far
falling deep in to sleep

deep..deep..deep..deep
I'm laying on a bed
I'm so confused 
where am i?
my throat feels sore
my body screams in pain
I'm looking around
I'm in a small white room

i try to move,
my hands are stuck
i try to get up
i feel restraints 
what happened to me?

I'm laying on a bed
trying to get up
my head hurts
a nurse is here
a shot is administered 
i drift to sleep
I'm in the psych ward
why am i here?

I'm lying on a bed
laying so still 
my wrists hurts to no end
I'm crying out loud
screaming and cussing
my body hurts
i can't remember

all i remember are my bloody wrists
and a bottle of pills
all i remember is the pain i was in.....





Details | Suicide Poem |

Her Masterpiece Is Her Story

Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas, her wrists,
"I deserve the pain."
She shrugs and insists.

One day the brush will push down,
And it will cut so deep,
That this girl will fall
into an eternal sleep.

She doesn't remember how she started
What brought her interest to this,
How do you discover,
that cutting is your form of bliss?

No one would have guessed that she does it.
No one would have considered this one.
This girl is forever fighting a battle,
that she thinks the demons have won.

Her artwork is all over her,
Her beauty is on her thighs,
and if you look in her old trash,
you'll find her letters of goodbye.

Her masterpiece is quite disturbing,
Her masterpiece is a little gory,
Her artwork is her escape.
Let me tell you her story.

She compares herself to every person,
She is compared to each girl.
She thinks she's hideous,
And there's this boy that is her world.

She was bullied and picked on,
She was teased from head to toe,
Hard to believe that her best friend,
was her one and only foe.

Then later she disliked every little thing,
Her body, face and even her mind,
Soon she saw she was a failure,
and it was just in due time...

That this girl couldn't take it anymore
She'd decided she was done living this,
So one day she went home
and decided to end it.

Everyday for multiple days,
This girl would try to drown,
Hard to believe this girl at school,
never ever wore a frown.

Sometimes she'd just fall asleep crying,
Praying that she'd be enough,
Because she didn't want to leave her family.
She knew about their sweet love.

This girl found hope in small things eventually,
She soon would see this beautiful light,
and find a REAL best friend,
that helped her put up a fight.

Her masterpiece soon was leaving,
Her artwork was almost faded,
and it gave her a sick feeling,
the feeling of being jaded.

She found a boy that actually loved her,
And showed her love exists,
And this boy too had a masterpiece,
placed close to his wrists.

He related to her and she related to him.
She kissed his artwork and said he's not alone,
When she cut herself it hurt him,
Her masterpiece now wasn't just her own.

Her masterpiece effected others,
Her artwork wasn't just for herself,
She now had people, 
who saw her cries for help.

And then her family found out,
So then they saw the art too,
to them they were just scars,
To her they were the truth.

She's trying to be okay now,
She thinks she might survive,
Even though they didn't think
to take away the knives.


Details | Suicide Poem |

THE LANGUAGE OF ASH


Anarchy and misery whispered so softly that only she could hear
their voices, so she threw crabapples at a mail man to draw attention, 
ran feral between cars, remapped streets that never gave adequate 

directions or a single landmark to show her the way home. Mother 
loved the shell her baby bird had long ago broken, a mourning dove 
cooing for soft pieces, each scattered peep. Breath, the only thing 

that was hers, truly. Oh, the relief to snatch a bored sigh, draw it back, 
deny escape. A-gore-rhythms and Form-you-la’s, school’s strangle hold
methodology of mind control. Skip to my Lou. Skip class. Skip through 

rush hour traffic. Still, no one understands. No one speaks the language 
of Ash. Purge-atory is no fantasy. Every day, the same losses: possibility, 
sensitivity, civility. Hey guards, listen to all the things she will never say. 

Words, what the hell are they but manufactured strings of disappointment
that she chokes on? The entire world babbles platitudes and lawyers’ lies 
and vulgar chastisements.  Why speak, why waste a single breath? 

They fling their crap, so she returns the favor, knowing they will not 
translate her message. They use verbs like pepper spray and cavity search
and solitary confinement. She is nineteen, but the numbers don’t add up,

redo the equation. Just don’t ask questions or try to hurt yourself. Just? 
Again, she feels the noose close her throat, smiles at her secret antidote, 
the open doors of unconsciousness. A caress, this burn against the neck, 

again and again, saved and saved and saved, as though they’d noticed 
the flame’s gone, as though someone cared that she’d become soot, ash, 
ashes. Ashley? Ashley to ashes to ash to dust, just dust. Just? 
 
Just. Death. 






About this Poem

Ashley Smith was a troubled teen who would run into traffic, scream at people, cut classes.At 15 year, she was incarcerated for throwing crabapples at a mail man, this led to behavior which kept her in prison.  She defied the system, threw feces at guards, refused to comply and strangled herself many times a day. Ashley was restrained in a chair for as long as 8 hours, forced to sleep on mattress-less bed frame, pepper sprayed, tazered and kept mostly in segregation. She would bang her head against the floor until she bled, told a phychologist she felt suicide was her only hope. She was moved 17 times between 8 facilities in only 9 months. On October 17, 2007, Ashley, aged 19, hung herself in her cell as guards merely watched, having been ordered to only intervene once she STOPPED breathing. Her death was filmed. There is currently an inquest into Ashley’s treatment and suicide. For more information-

http://www.montrealgazette.com/news/national/Ashley+Smith+death+only/8053824/story.html


May change come. 

May change come, now.


Details | Suicide Poem |

WHITE DEVIL

White Devil

Call it what you want!
I call it, his favorite season hunt...
Two hoofs imprinted near the riverfront.
Echoes calling my soul with a loud, ferocious grunt.

I smell it in the air, lost upon the white golden stair.
A deep frost dwelling all over his lair.
Tangled by the frozen grip of my hair.
A decision, I declare to give what he won't spare.

This man has no red suit..
Lurking in the white to recruit.
A midnight suicide clouding me with pollute.
I pause my tongue on mute, lost in a white castle chute.

Headed straight into a shivering blazing star path.
The land of snow covered like a bubble bath.
Breaking icicles like crystal glass, suck3d by the milky-way mass.
Multiplying bruises like a cascade, enjoying the aftermath. 

Finding a way to slit the pain in my domain.
I grab a coat and lace my name to Mary-Jane.
Inserting the finest line to ease the drain in my brain.
I drink the icy scotch, and drop a silver nickel into the devils cocaine.

Fallen in to his bait, its too late, I got 7 lines on my dinner plate.
I'm covered up in snow, enjoying the amazing way to suffocate.
Eight beats to every minute is my new heart rate.
I'm reaching for the white golden gate, where the white devil waits.

Drowning like liquor in a frappe mixing the winter's high tide.
Death to my soul is where I hide under this white blanket neutral side.
Too heavy to uplift this storm lost in the devil's cold custard suicide guide.
Waking up in a coma, in a world where white collides with the rage of suicide.

by;p.d.   
 (( Trapped in a snowy blizzard))


Details | Suicide Poem |

On The Wings Of An Angel

Today is the day I have
chosen  to die,on the wings
of an ANGEL I will fly high

I feel I could have been 
better while I was here,
but on the wings of an
ANGEL,I will have no fear.

All my life I had to put up
a fight,but on the wings
of an ANGEL I will be alright.

Things may have been better
if id'e taken time to pray,now
I am on the wings of an ANGEL
and I am going to be ok.


                   Please LORD watch over my loved one's.

                        Colleen Marie Bono



Details | Suicide Poem |

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 | Suicide Poem |

Dying Eyes

I have lost the will to change
Taking the path that leads to nowhere
The darkness is taking over
something i cannot repair 
If it is to be broken
Drowning in the sorrow
I cannot give in
Take the fall and run to the heavens
Im never going to bow
Im never going to break
I will not fall
I will not fade
I was made to take your breathe away
Whenever my hope is lost
Thats my chance to run for cover
Light the fuse and burn it up
I dont want to change the world
I just want to make it colder
Watching the end
With our dying eyes
Tell me where forever lies


Details | Suicide Poem |

read this please

They hate you because your you
They make up lies and call it true
They're fake behind your back
Hoping someday that you'll crack.

They hate you because your real.
no matter what they say you always heal
They're surprised to see you rise,
That you're not affected by all these lies


They hate you because you smile at them
It shows them that your a real gem
You are always true and do your best :)
Sometimes these haters just cant test

They hate you for no reason
Despite it all, you smile
whatever the reason
At the end of the day
All i'm gonna say
All i plan to be 
IS ME


-Sanderline Fleury :)


Details | Suicide Poem |

Alcoholic's Suicide

He sits there with a beer in his hand…
With residue from his last line on his nose.
No lights on in the house,
Because he’s always home alone.

To drunk to get up he urinates on himself.
But he can still get another beer.
He sits down and starts to cry.
He wonders why his family isn’t here.

He’s hung up on the past.
Things that could have been…
But right now he sits alone,
And he’s slowly dying.

He doesn’t even care about his daughter.
Who tries to stop him from drinking.
She cries and begs him to stop.
She sees him slowly sinking.

Soon he’ll lose his family…
Or more likely he’ll die.
It’s truly difficult to watch…
My daddy kill himself one beer at a time.


Details | Suicide Poem |

The Funny Side of Suicide

A friend of mine once inquired 
if I had suicide on my brain. 
"EVERY TIME I SEE YOU...
you chase away the rain." 

She looked a little puzzled 
but thanked me none the less, adding:
"Are you sure you're not contemplating 
the end of all your stress?"

"Why," said I, "should I decide
to end this life sublime
when all I want right here and now
is one more round of wine?"

"So cut the crap, go take a nap
or bring me red rose',
you're killing me with your questions
and all I want to do is play!"

Still she could not let it go
and asked me once again -
"Are you SURE you're not considering 
a permanent vacation, my friend?"

"Enough, enough of all this stuff
regarding grassy graves,
If you ask me one more time again
it's yours that will be made!"

And so she finally took the hint 
that I'm finer than a frogs hair cut - 
Never the less, I thanked her profusely
for caring so very much. 

* Inspired by a very special lady here in PSoup (who shall remain anonymous), recently  concerned about my state of mind.  I couldn't help but be impressed and touched by her genuine concern and felt compelled to reassure her that I'm "Finer than a frogs hair cut."  On a more serious note, REAL suicide is nothing to laugh about and if this poem offends anyone, I sincerely apologize and mean no disrespect to anyone touched by it's sad results.  All the best, Terry


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