I Death Wood
My skeleton, the trembling tree,
hit by the axes of ambulances
due to the decay of disease.
My muscles languish as wilted leaves.
My organs are rotting red apples.
My soul is the searing wind, while
my thoughts tick like termites.
The ivy of MS illness wraps with
waste around my twisted trunk.
Suddenly, spiders of suicide
descend onto my branches.
They crawl across my broken bark,
crackling my rustic eyesight.
The sun, a golden unicorn, gone
into the forest of healthy laughter.
My wilted wood wanes in a cloud coma
with no moon, stars or watercolor sky.
Where are my wildflowers?
Where is my green gleam?
I wait and wish for black lighting.
II Birth Wood
My family, the fog where most
float in the underworld as veiled
ghosts along the grassy grounds.
My thirsty roots reach for them
like wild hands hungry in ebony soil.
Sometimes their memory perfumes
and pollinates my heart with prayers.
My friends are a flock of birds that
become singing bracelets upon my bark.
Their feathers grace me like silk hope.
Their beaks devour the suicide spiders
on my weak wood, and their cheerful
songs encourage me to bloom once again.
Full moon flashes as a white wizard,
wearing a cloak of competitive clouds,
while moody night smolders as his black hat.
Spirals of opal light make my bark bright.
Spirit moonbeams weave within my wood,
healing hollow shadows, and allowing me to
taste the monthly midnight milk of magic.
III Rain Wood
Spring steams with saturating rainfall,
sealing my splinters, washing away webs,
and the dirt of daily depression.
My sap slides like a slow moving sea.
My tree bends and bows in all
directions, sprouting with joy.
Jade fire erupts along my branches.
Raindrops beat like crystal hearts
upon my boughs and my blossoms.
These clear spheres of nature inspire
rebirth and germination of all life.
My apples sing as flutes, my leaves
clap hands, and my trunk plays harp.
My lover, the lone eagle, appears and flaps
his feathered wings upon my wooden nest.
Our love is best lived in traveling weather.
My limbs taste the last drops of dissipating dew
as the crocheting clouds release final rivers.
Deer court in the fermenting forest,
while golden unicorn grazes upon me.
February 7th 2008
Sponsor: A Poet Destroyer
Contest: 100 in a ROW contest--3
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2015
The easel beholds a half finishing painting
The paints beside have all hardened
Pain reflected in the partial emptiness
Staring back at that gathered crowd
The sun melts on the canvas page
Creation explained in elapsed rage
Notions and pleas from dried paintbrushes
Strewn across the almost barren floor
One to the other in whispered voice
I wonder if this would have been his choice?
Empty wine bottles twirling in light
Beside the dead body, a painting just right
There lies Art
His final painting
His last prose
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
She stands at the edge of the precipice,
looking down towards her future.
The last tears that she will ever cry,
falling from her eyes,
then falling into oblivion.
She watches them drop
as they disappear forever.
Yet, she laughs in the face of death.
Would it really matter if she took the leap?
She has been forgotten by tomorrow.
The wind blowing at her back,
pushes her to the edge.
Almost agreeing with her final decision,
and encouraging her to jump.
A thousand thoughts and memories
racing through her mind.
Her first day of school.
Her tenth birthday party.
The lonely, awkward days of her teenage years.
The day she discovered poetry.
The moment she first saw him.
The day she thought that she was worth something.
The day when all of that became a lie.
that never made the pages of a history book.
She has been forgotten by tomorrow.
She exists to no one but herself.
In the blink of an eye, she decides her fate.
Her feet leave the ground,
and yet, she did not fall.
Out of nowhere he appeared,
and carefully grabbed her hand.
Pulling her back to reality,
saving her from the brink of disaster.
He held her, as her tears stained his jacket.
Old tears of sadness,
mixed with new tears of happiness.
She was remembered by yesterday.
Before she was forgotten by tomorrow.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
She went to sleep
closing her eyes
beginning to dream
of broken butterflies
tearing her lovely monarch wings
on faithless love that angels sings...
She finds shiny metal in kitchen sink
in an evening absent light
she finds peace in cuts of pink
watching crimson blood flow feels so right..
Starlight shines upon her tears
I whisper darling, you cannot bleed
all of your suicidal fears
at night when you begin to cry
I'll sing you a lover's lullaby..
My love do not wish that you were dead
dreaming of an absent pulse
laying on silken sheets bleeding red
I will offer love so do not bleed
give me your knife I am all you need...
~ ~ ~ ~
Copyright © Ken Carroll | Year Posted 2014
Near the cliff's edge he stood
poised and composed. Wind swept dust
whirling ozone mingling thyme,
tickling his half-clogged nose.
gliding, soaring, diving,
harbingers of electric storms.
A mistral wind blew cold and cruel
black clouds formed low, forbidding.
Lazy lizards scuttled for refuge
Sparrows hid in lowly carobs
Or flew into the stately pines.
The wind spoke suddenly.
Gusts whispering dread.
An urge, a whisper, an invitation
echoing sirens of old:
"Be free, fly, liberate yourself."
Below, the sea in turmoil,
no fishing boats in sight.
No one but he dared face the storm,
the storm he feared
was inside his tattered soul,
a sea of torment.
The birds and creatures of the wild
found a haven, but he had none,
no solutions to the inner storm,
except to dive and join the sirens,
in the perilous seas below.
written 12 September 2007
Many people died here. It is a real picture of Dingli Cliffs in Malta.
I never dare to go near the edge.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2015
Maid of the Myst
I lie in repose
Under the falls
In a tranquil pool
Of turquoise blue
He left me for another
This I could not suffer
My pain already drowning me
I fell from the falls
Spectacular was the news
Young girl with the blues
Dives to her cherished death
My lover left me for I was on meth
I was confused and skin so bruised
Misused and tears seeped from my veins
No one at all could know this enduring pain
So now under the falls I enjoy the rain
My soul lies deep
Under waters so very steep
I wait, and I wait
To be alive again
From the skies
Not another… but I see a phone that dives
Floating downwards upon my weary breast
A chance you see, finally I was blessed
I call from the depths below
Like a spirit I begin to glow
Daddy daddy is that you?
From below I call to say a proper adieu
Found inside her pocket
I miss you daddy
I love you so much
Forgive my wild youth
Remember me as I was in your arms
Long ago with my pony tails
Your little cuddly pumpkin
Love you daddy
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
This won't be a pretty picture, but I'm going to use this paper to put my art on
I'm not heartless, let me show you where my heart's gone
Should I be ashamed? Should I hide my scars?
Some were gave to me, others inflicted from self-harm
The weight of the world on my shoulders, is easy to carry compared to the pain in my heart
I fell so many times and had no one helping me up
How could I be alone when I have depression telling me I suck
I wanted to get close to you Chantal, but depression was right there
It made me push away my dream girl and continued to be my nightmare
Age 13 I lost my virginity to a girl called Meg
I grew up quicker than I should have
I wonder if she ever thinks of me? Do I pop into her head?
It wasn't her first time, so I doubt it was as special for her
If she reads this, I hope I can make her feel special with words
There I go, Putting out stuff about me the world doesn't need to know
I'm probably wrong for putting my heart on display when I write this
I just hope people who give this a read will grow
Even if they judge me, I don't think I can hide this
I battle suicidal thoughts daily, so a lot of people consider me weak
I can rhyme my pain perfectly, but I'm unable to deliver a speech
When my ex cheated, was the guy richer than me?
Was he bigger than me?
I don't need to know, tell the bartender it's a hard liquor for me
All of my mistakes came with a lesson attached
I've never touched drugs, even though my brother and sister are injecting smack
Who am I to judge, when I used to pick up blades and made myself start bleeding
Depression makes me tired, anxiety prevents me from sleeping
I was bullied at school and made to feel worthless
I can't be a good poet, because I don't know how to word it
Got told I shouldn't love hip hop cause I'm a white dude
You don't have the right to listen to Rakim, Nas, Big Pun and Ice Cube
I was confused as to why they cared so much about what's playing in my earphones
Dealing with my fears alone
Bipolar so a lot of people label me weird
Sometimes I wish I wasn't able to hear
I find it hard to open up to new people who come close
I hide my feelings to the best of my ability from people I know
I'm only human, I hope you can learn from my mistakes
This is my real life pain, but to you its just words on a page
Copyright © Alex Duffy | Year Posted 2017
On The Suicide Of Dorothy Hale
Known for her self portraits and her politics
Her famous unibrow and her elaborate dress
And for twice marrying Mexico's most renown muralist
Her paintings which bore her pain were well received
And to this day are still growing in success
However my intrigue lies in her greatest fail
Not still life nor self portrait rather
Her commissioned portrait of late actress Dorothy Hale
Asked for by Hale's friend publisher of Vanity Fair
Intended as a gift for the grieving mother
No doubt a caring gesture to ease untold despair
But Frida Kahlo in her visceral style
Produced The Suicide Of Dorothy Hale
A piece which did more to trumpet her own guile
More accurate and macabre a portrayal than anyone would expect
The actress in her leap from her high-rise suite
A ghostly image draped in white falling to her death
And at the bottom her lifeless body replete with bloody mess
Corsage of yellow roses pinned to her favourite black dress
For me this painting speaks more of Frida Kahlo's honesty
Than any self depiction
Her character, personality, and her absolute conviction.
At the bottom of the painting in blood red lettering reads
"In New York City on the 21st of October 1938, at 6:00 in the morning,
Dorothy Hale committed suicide by throwing herself from a very high window
in the Hampshire House. In her memory [...] this retablo was executed
By Frida Kahlo."
Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2017
I can’t breathe.
It isn’t because I’m upset,
Because I’m not.
I rarely am anymore.
No, that’s wrong.
But it’s not painful
Like it used to be
Back when I had real emotions;
Back when I knew what it meant
To be human
And not an empty husk
With nothing going on inside.
I’m a husk,
But it hurts so much
To be empty.
Always screaming in my head,
Slamming their fists
Against my battered throat,
Tripping over my bloody tongue,
Whispering past my chewed lips
Because all their power
Was lost fighting me.
I’m my own villain,
My own executioner.
I wrap ropes around my neck
And take a leap of faith
Off the nearest building.
My community service?
Wipe my remains off
Of your three-hundred-dollar boots
And forget about the girl
Who used to sit across from you in class
With the saddest smile;
Twisting her depression
Into something almost edible.
Forget about the girl
Who stood for
Everything that burns
Forget about the girl
Who used to be okay.
Forget about the girl
Who’s nothing more
Than a streak across the pavement
And a brief vigil in the streets,
An excuse for tears
When she didn’t deserve them
In the first place.
Copyright © Carissa Clanton | Year Posted 2017
I Committed Suicide
I stretched out weary hands.
Melisa, who considered me
like a big brother, quickly ran away from me.
My heart writhed unto me;
I longed for a swig of water.
Noise danced, rumbled inside me in thunder.
But the whirlwind heard
the swoosh of the knife as my eyes blushed.
But why didn’t I die instead?
I placed the knife back
in my rusty pocket.
I recalled she told me,
“No, don’t kill yourself.”
“Stress is like chess;
either you play it, or it plays you.”
Vinegar boiled my blood,
though my bones
were hit by the daily rocks I ate.
My suicidal act was lured with its bait.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Swarms of flies consumed the skin of my throat.
My fleshes were allotted to stresses atop a fire.
My fur was tumbleweed and chaff before the wind blew.
My mouth became a thirsty land.
I turned blue. I cried sandy tears.
My ivory screams were smokes.
But why didn’t I die instead?
“Christo,” I heard as I reconsidered.
“Melisa bloodily committed suicide,”
an old man vociferated.
I fell to my knees.
The blood in my head was a rolling sea.
Reconsideration ebbed away.
I was a zebra running away from a lion’s teeth,
but in the lake, caught by the crocodile’s jaws of death.
My muscles fainted in decay.
My soul ran away from a fowler’s snare.
Wails went higher than an eagle’s wings.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Copyright © Christopher leonidas | Year Posted 2015
A most beautiful suicide- from the hands of her beautiful possession
that struck the nerve that broke her dreams
and drained her blood down the pipe.
She called everyone-they all smiled
She cut too deep and they sent her away
to a grey place that made her think hopelessly
waiting for an answer.
A therapist did not help,
even though they lied and said they do-
So the doctor gave her pills
white ones, pink ones, blue ones and red ones too,
but all made her feel the same.
She was black and dying
she wasn't waiting on death any longer,
she filled the bath
naked in her bare flesh
and slit her wrists
her heart slowly stilled
and her blood went down the drain.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2016
I fall down
deeper and deeper
the sounds of evil
dripping into my ears
and sliding down into me
filling me with echoes.
terror courses through
into each cell
turning them against
they are no longer mine
they follow another
a stronger being.
icy breezes come
they whisper to me
they say I'm bad
they call me to them
the breezes dance
hiding me from the light
shielding me from hope.
my eyes are taunted
I see people
the ones I know
they are hurt
I have betrayed them
I am hurting them
it is me
but I can't stop.
my mind is plagued
comes a new terror
a cruel joke
all a prank.
only deeper do I fall
light is disappearing
all a game
for one person
the man in the
the one who is running the show
the show that is me.
he sees me falling
I can't see him
but he is there
teasing my brain
taunting my senses
he hates me
he wants to hurt me.
he throws it
I feel the pain
running up my leg
showing my bones
releasing my blood
it is blue
my blood is cold
it splatters my face
sprinkling my features
dotting them with blue
the blue liquid drips
jumping onto my tongue
I taste dirt
my blood is dirt
blue is all I see
blue is all I become
I am blue
blue is me.
a distant shout
who is it?
a cry for help
the sound is mangled
the sound is mine
I shut my mouth
but I still hear it
chilling my blue blood
ringing in my ears
shaking my breathing
jump-starting my heart
then it's over
the scream has ceased
and silence returns
sounding more deadly than ever before.
only black do I see
the monsters' playground
the demons' joyride
and someone is hungry
it wants me
it wants to take it
it feeds on people
people like me.
objects hitting me
ghosts' fingers prodding me
as I fall
I fall down
down into this never-ending hole
filled with misery
my worst fears
how did he know?
he knows I'm afraid
doesn't help me see
I can't see why
how does he do this?
they cut me again
spilling my blood
oh, the blue
I don't even feel it
I am numb
the sound of me
a quick slashing
and they are done
I am cut
I can't see my blood
but I can see how evil it must look.
the thoughts that fell
fell down with me
they talk to me
they tell me what they see
they can see
my cold blood
it is everywhere
I am pale
I look sick they say
they see the bottom
I fall faster still
slowing for nothing
for no one
being pulled down
the puppeteer has me
he's got my string
and he's pulling
with no sign of letting go.
now I hear a song
they all sing it
the notes are cruel
they bump into the others
struggling to be heard
with no set order
it is musical chaos
he yells to me
it is beautiful
and he sings along to his song
it's made for me
musical notes are played
they come up to me
they greet me
right into my cuts
surging into my blood
they search inside me
keeping them steady
picking up tempo
they found it
the music does the talking
it says to hush
my heart listens
and I get sleepy
the music is evil
played by the man
the man in the mask
my brains sends
one final request
it says to my heart
speed up, can't you see?
she is dying
you must speed up!
I still fall
with no way up
letting go of hope
dreaming of being saved
when I already know
I'll only be dropped.
I know what
it is flesh
but belongs to someone else
they smell of dirt
they are nothing to me
they are the stench
in my nose
the smell overcomes all
all the other senses
until it becomes me
and I burn too.
even in the dark
I see something
blacker than black
they are shadows
they mock me
I fill with evil
a longing to hurt
hurt the ones behind it all
I hear him
is his pleasure
oh so dark
I'm at the bottom
laying on the cold ground
in a small ball
too weak to stand
in a pool
of dark blue blood
I hold myself tight
I can't trust
he likes my weakness
he tells me I am small
I am ugly
I am worthless
I am nothing
he laughs when I cry
I thought that
it would be better
instead of up there.
hell is not a game.
death is not an
easy way out.
do not try to visit me.
do not try to rescue me.
for I am more lost
than I hope you will
now that I am
at my fate
at the entrance to hell
at the bottom of this grave
of my eternity
and if I am truly
I'll have plenty of time
to ask myself
why did I jump?
Copyright © Allyssa Pate | Year Posted 2014
Understanding Suicide Understanding Me
Awhile back I had a dear friend contact me to ask if I heard about the young mans suicide at a nearby towns school. I had not. After asking one time on face book if any one of my friends had heard of any such event. My wall began to fill up with details about his life and his personality. His struggles and even previous attempts to end or erase his existence.
He was described as having dreamy eyes by female classmates when he was younger. He was described as the most polite and well mannered but troubled child one person said they had ever met.
Memories of my own changing years flooded my soul as I thought about it all. I did a school report in what they called then Junior High. And my chosen topic was suicide. I've often asked myself why I chose that topic. Today will be one of the very few times I admit it was on my mind a lot during that period of my life. It wasn't because my home life was unbearable. It wasn't because I had no friends or because my young heart had been broken.
In fact I'm only just now realizing it had almost nothing at all to do with my surroundings. It was something within me. Fear certainly had a part to play. Fear of tomorrow. Fear of never really feeling like I fit in. Even though by all outward appearances I was adjusting as well as the majority of people my age.
There was then and sometimes even now this voice. This relentless cruel and demeaning voice always there to remind me. I'll never be good enough. I will always only get what I deserve and that's why I'll never have anything that lasts. Anything that is true. And truly mine.
I was only given a passing grade for my report on suicide because it was obvious the amount of time and effort I put into it. I was told the topic I chose was wrong for a jr high school project. I had failed again. All of that after listening with blood pumping that we could choose our own topic. Somehow my choice wasn't good enough.
I realize now that my very choice for a topic should have sent off bells and whistles throughout the school that one of their own was thinking thoughts of suicide. But they missed it. They didn't see me at all.
Today I don't know why I chose that topic. But I know that one result of it was the saving of my own life. The understanding I gained by being able to see inside the mind that is tormented by unanswerable questions all starting or ending with why? And the realization that to the troubled mind the ultimate answer to fix the most un fixable things.
Is to end it.
This is the point when discussing suicide where fools love to chime in un researched and selfish insensitive remarks revealing their opinions and the fact that they are a fool.
A wise man knows only what he knows.
And he does not pretend to have already been where he never hopes to go.
People often consider suicide to be a selfish act. Sometimes referring to it as a cowards way out.
I hate that. And I hate anything that tries to simplify something as complex as a human mind that has reached it's breaking point.
The fact is that to the person in the midst of that struggle. It is the most unselfish and heroic thing that they think they could do.
My point is, that it was my understanding of suicide. It's effects and it's consequences that kept me from crossing that line.
After all the details of this young life surfaced and several hours later my dear friend and I talked again. And without saying it I know she was asking about this path I'm on with my poetry. The tributes to loved ones that have died. The heartache and the heartbreak that I see every day sometimes all day long.
And she asked me. Does all the sadness ever get to you? I responded Absolutely.
There are times I struggle beneath its weight. Sometimes I fall. But somehow I manage to get up again and I keep writing and sometimes when I'm lucky I see someones reaction to a poem where all of a sudden they get it. A life changing revelation takes place in that moment in time. And for a minute.
I know the reason I'm alive is to help other people live.
And to find the fullness in their life that I may or may not ever find for myself. It's no longer about me. Because you see somewhere back there that part of me that wanted so badly just to die.
I let it die. And I moved on but not me as I was. A different me. Weaker in some ways and stronger in others. Less proud but more to be proud of. More easily overwhelmed but less breakable.
And so when you see me on the mountaintop and I'm strutting around acting like I belong there. Please. Just let me have that one moment. Because tomorrow I'll be back with the mountain on top of me. Trying to find another way to save someone from going where I have been and hoping to enrich other peoples lives even if it means I know I'm simply going to be passed up along the way.
My reward is you rising above my highest point. My fee for my services? That you never forget how valuable you are. And that you keep pushing forward and never give up.
If you forget me tomorrow. That's ok. But don't forget the things I said. And don't forget to help someone else along the way.
Heart Whisperer Ed Hofert @ facebook
Edwin C Hofert
Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015
She silently prays as she reaches for the chord
Wonder why the Iman didn't do this
I wanted paradise here and the quiet is deafening
Tick tock tick tock and her heart.......
She hasn't tried makeup as she keeps step to her thoughts
Outside of the mosque she awaits her destiny and strangers
They are mine enemy and thirteen hundred and eighty years
Young Mohammed and his brown eyes with smiles
Tick tock and the tick tock
When will that bell toll and the brown eyes that smile
The men get seven virgins and I am one
United States soldiers on patrol march by and the prayer
" Allah Akbar,"
She is torn and the mosque crumbles
A child screams as he holds a hand with no arm
And a car silently burns as people bleed
The mothers last thought is no pain and the hand
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
I was born a girl
whose parent’s died.
Then given to others
whose social status was high.
Papa, the king, but died in war.
Mama, the queen, who didn’t marry more.
An eternal scowl upon her face
as she kept her daily pace.
Hair pinned high upon her head.
“Do this!” “Do that!” She constantly said
and when I’d do one thing wrong
she’d scold me, yelling “Cinderella!”, for hours long.
And once she was done with what she said
I’d get back to work again.
But one day I got fed up.
Ran up my tower and closed the door up.
My window, the only way out
but Mama barged in, stopping in mid-shout.
But I just turned back and smiled
and then I fell a thousand miles.
And I lay among the trees
my spirit, at last, forever free.
Copyright © Holly Laudenslager | Year Posted 2014
She said sorry too often.
She apologized for apologizing
She said sorry like it was a
She apologized for everything that goes wrong.
Because she has labeled herself as a
She was sorry for not being good enough.
Because no one ever told her
She was good enough.
No one ever told her that she was
Then the mess inside her head.
So she learned to apologize
For every single
Copyright © Olivia Struthers | Year Posted 2015
I sift through his Taoist rants
searching the brilliance and madness
for something to make sense; to inspire.
And he does not insult me
with the dust of dead men
though dust is what remains.
Ash falls through my fingers,
as promised, plenty of his own decay,
pure and uncontaminated,
his spirit whispering remembrance;
his legacy blowing in the wind
captured in my heart and lungs.
Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2010
It started with a simple sentace,
You worthless ugly brat.
Mental abuse turned physical.
Beacuse of this she stopped trying at school,
Beacuse she stopped trying she lost her friends,
Beacuse she lost her friends she became a easy target,
Beacuse she was a easy target she was picked on,
And words and notes turned to kicking and tripping and choking,
And beacuse of kicking and tripping and choking she fell into depression,
Beacuse she fell into depression she stopped being active,
Beacuse she stopped being active her parents yelled and screamed and hit,
Beacuse her parents yelled and screamed and hit she failed her school work,
Beacuse she failed her school work she was considered stupid,
Beacuse she was considered stupid she was hurt at school,
Beacuse she was hurt at school she didn't have a safe spot anymore,
Beacuse she didn't have a safe spot anymore she started cutting,
Beacuse she started cutting she started to believe the mean mean words,
The more she thought, the more she realized how true they were,
Beacuse they were true she decided to take her own life,
It sucks that that She,
Copyright © Lilly Davis | Year Posted 2016
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
Angel of Death,
Cloaked in black.
With black scaled wings,
Upon her back.
Angel of Death,
Coming for me.
As soon as I sleep
Then dead I will be.
Taken by the night
It swallows and consumes me.
Now I am the angel
And death becomes me.
Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013
My heart is warmed
With all the caring
The generic letters and
All the staring
My heart is heavy
With sadness and despair
My lungs are clawing as they grasp for air
I wish for love, but does any one care?
I may be young
I may be an old haunted soul
I have a friend
As lonely as I, death our only goal
Hanging in the distance
Or hanging by a rope
We made a pact
The tiniest of suicidal hopes
I shouted in silence
Is anyone there?
Please, listen, listen to my total disrepair
My ears like an owls, yet no voices to share
My only choice to tie neck to rope
I tossed a poem out to the sea
Like a lifejacket, I just wanted to see
No one saw, and no one cared
Generic letters drowning, in the sea of despair
Poetry was my last breath of fresh air
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Smile! but i want to die. but how can i take my life
when god sacrificed his life and we shall have life and have
it more abundantly .. LIFE .
that simple word that you can change, it all depends how you live.
you know, life has many challenges that you face, but its up to you to embrace
that love from above! his gentleness is like a dove, everlasting is his name, and
you take life as a game?
YEAH, you can always choose how you want to play, but TODAY,
you will change that thought of suicide, and push those tears aside, and
remember, god is ON your side! his not like chris, john, bob, billy, or even
Lucifer ! yeah LUCIFER ..
does that name ring a bell ? not being a pastor but i decree and declare that we
SHALL, not want to die, but stay alive! .. i dont care what the circumstance is, i
know who GOD is, and i WILL let him live in ME !
Al'dayja Selby (A.T.S)
Copyright © Aldayja Selby | Year Posted 2014
Your yellow appears during
the darkest days
as you feel the black set in.
Being aware of your
instincts causes a chain reaction
that bleeds into nothingness,
blended below your tortured remorse.
You're scared, I know.
The trepidation crowds your self-worth.
You're sad, I know.
The truth of the matter is that your
foreboding crisis creeps outside the
color of your true essence.
Your essence is yellow.
Always has been, but you
could never feel your sunshine.
The daily struggle of haunting ghosts,
makes you relive the childhood
demons over and over again.
When you were born, you held
a golden locket in your heart.
When you were born, you held
a medallion inside your soul.
These shades made you...you.
And you...basked into the smiles
your mother gave you when in her arms.
Depression sets in during trials of
lost souls. The lost souls crowd around and
eat at your flakes of sanity.
Chemical reactions ignite, and somewhere
in between your despondency and agony,
the fire breaks through and you crave
Your rain is full of satisfied contentment.
Your rain comes to an end,
and there it is.
Your sweet shades of insightful yellow.
I only have one wish.
That you could've seen your yellow,
before it was too late.
Good bye, my sweet, may you rest in peace...
Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: March 21, 2016
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016
Water trickles on her wrists
Wiping away the blood
Wiping away the pain caused by so many others
The voices in her head are screaming for her to kill herself
Telling her to forget about the small amount of hope she still holds on to
For that hope is the only thing keeping her alive
She feels as if everyone around her don’t see her
They see her as broken, something that can’t be fixed
But everything can be fixed it may not be perfect
But it still holds value
In this case the value of a person’s life
Someone who didn’t deserve the way she was made to feel
She had people tell her ‘I hope you die in your sleep’
Or people saying she was better off in a coffin
These words she started to believe so after so many years of hoping she gave up
She gave in to the voices in her head
That night she went in to her father’s study and took out his handgun
She held it to her head and with tears streaming down her face she pulled the trigger
Her parents woke in a fright and ran to the study
To find her limp, cold body lying on the floor, hoping that what they saw wasn’t real
That there baby girl wasn’t gone
They blamed themselves for not seeing how much pain she was in
For not noticing her when it mattered.
Copyright © Sarah Vaughan | Year Posted 2015
Bang, there goes another.
Another life, another meaning,
Gone. Gone like the rain in the desert
Never to return.
It’s the sad truth that our children
Cannot live in harmony together on our Earth.
We turn to the isolation.
To the pain.
To the self-hatred and the bitterness.
But what do we gain?
Our lives are not statistics.
We do not deserve this belittling
We do not deserve this treatment.
And yet we still take it all in stride.
We fall and we fall but it never seems to end.
And so we take everyone down with us in the long run.
When will we learn to grab hold,
and stop this incessant falling,
this constant drowning in our thoughts, in the shouting words of others?
Bang, there goes another.
A lost purpose, a lonely child.
Never to see themselves better than the ugly words of others
Copyright © Nicole Anderson | Year Posted 2014
I have found my refuge
in the arms of death
Take away this soul
the life I used to have
To live in darkness
in the middle of nowhere
Standing in adversity
with noone to hold me
This grief I felt
has tortured my brain
Great deal of misfortune
to carry this burden..
Copyright © Chrisna Vergara | Year Posted 2017
I can't remember if the sun was shining
Or if the clouds looked down on me as I stood
A child of ten standing on a window sill
Whispering to himself he should
It started shortly after I woke
Distant where the trigger was
I'm guessing just the overflow
of everything they did and said
Finally ground down by all around
And though I'd fought for years
Death becomes a friend
When she's the only one there for you
Knowing I would soon be in the playground
Where no nurse could make better the names they cruelled
Knowing my mothers boyfriend was down stairs
Waiting for his latest vile whim to unfold
My mind consumed by every name called
I was not the same they proved
Alone in my crowded thoughts
T o death I looked for belonging
As I dressed my imagination dreamt
What could happen today?
Exploding into the unknown
My strength rapidly dissolved
I could see no directions
that didn't lead to another painful day
As my journey to the end begun
All they told me loading the gun
All that made me different from
Pushing me closer and closer to the edge of no return
In front of the mirror I stood
Cut off my curly hair
No longer the golliwog
That their taunts would compare
I covered my skin in talcum powder
As I didn't want to be
That horrible thick coon
he always called me.
My hair a mess
My colour unmasked
Tired, Frightened, alone,
I decided enough, enough
Standing on the window sill
The last bastion for survival colliding inside
As the exhausted wishes to hang on
Were overcome by the desperation to escape this hollow excuse for life
No single tear a cry for help
As id learnt they choose not to hear
I urge myself towards an end to the hurt
where the crying would clear
As I engulf my mind in my final moments
And call for death to take my hand
From across the road a woman called
To this day she probably doesn't know she saved my life
Created rivers down talcum powdered cheeks
But my mother didn't laugh
when she found me
I guess that's where you'd expect everything to be made right
I guess that's where I learnt to no longer believe
Through every promising word in the wake of what could
They didn't do what they should
Copyright © Christopher Wellbelove | Year Posted 2007
It's not suicide,
helplessly into that dark place.
The one you've covered up for so long.
The one that is hidden behind your smiles and laughs and rehearsed joy.
For so long you've waited,
everyday only getting closer and closer to the edge.
You cut and bleed, hurting yourself because somehow,
someway it helps with the pain.
When things are good, they're bad.
When things are bad, they're horrible.
The pain of day to day life can be only so tolerated.
'Till that day when the cutting,
and bleeding doesn't help anymore.
And you finally fall.
You slip so effortlessly into that dark hole,
where there's no room for light.
Nothing but the final escape from that bitter pain.
As it gets darker and darker, you can see the light.
Not a light of something better, but a light that it's all over.
It's like a continuous rabbit hole,
Until you hit the bottom and you're gone.
It's not suicide,
Copyright © Lexy Goodluck | Year Posted 2014
She thought it was nothing and broke it off,
But despite her feelings, he took it rough.
The love that seemed unforeseen to her,
Taunted him each time he dreamed.
Although he did his best to forget,
He hadn’t been able to forget her yet.
Passed his breaking point late one night,
He found a rope and tied it tight.
Not long after he stepped off his bucket,
He was found with a note inside his pocket.
“I will love her until the day I die,”
Were his last words and final goodbye.
With that, she realized far too late
That leaving him was her worst mistake.
Struck with grief, she grabbed two bottles.
Orange first, emptied it to the bottom.
She washed ‘em down with the bottle of rum,
His picture in her hand as she went numb.
Copyright © Jocelyn Honaker | Year Posted 2017
Everyone has an obsession
Others are harmless
Hers were not
Obsession devours beautiful souls into the black of night
Hers soul was bright and promising
If only she had known this on that night
They carried her away
Her future fading to black and vanished quickly
She had been consumed with depression
She strived to be like others, tall and pretty
Jealousy rotted her soul slowly
Agencies loved her
But only them
She spent long hours crying
Her obsession? Leaving crimson tear drops in her wake
Pricks and slices
She struggled to hide the secrets
Being exposed to the world for all to see yet even then no one knew
She was dark
Captured by the emptiness of the dark as she withered away
Waiting to be found
That pretty face was no more
Jealousy rotted her through
Yet again obsession took another beautiful soul
Copyright © Caitlyn Ellison | Year Posted 2015