Their feet still fly
arms raised to the sky
Their hearts still yearn
the fire yet burns
Their hopes still soar
as in days of yore
They'll soon storm the world
their passions unfurled
Old folks say their generation’s doomed
values upside down, introspective gloom
Throwing storied traditions to hell
(Perhaps that rings a bell) …
Dear friend, before you hang yourself in utter despair
Gaze in the rear-view mirror ~ See you and me there?
I gave no strings attached.
Gave you enough rope to hang yourself.
The rest's up to you.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 1st place 2026
You never saw past the glory days of 17.
Because you got sad and thought it a better idea
to hang yourself from the ceiling fan
instead of replacing its burnt-out bulbs.
Bright idea.
Dimming the light of all the candles
whose hearts and souls were trying
to add light to your dark and dismal life.
You were selfish to drop out.
You were selfish to quit.
And
now that you're gone, I can't help but look up
at the light shining down on me from your ceiling fan.
I changed the bulbs.
So why is everything still so dark?
And how do I go about life when my only friend snuffed out my candlelight spark?
Could you come back home, please?
I can't do this without you.
And I might go insane if I have to sit and stare between the cracks in your ceiling blades any longer.
Maybe I'll snap them off,
cut my wrists,
and join you.
Wait,
even though I'm depressed,
I know there are people in my life
that still need me.
That's something I could never get
through
your thick
ing
skull.
Selfish.
No because sometimes reassurances aren't enough, you know?
Sometimes it isn't enough to remind yourself that you are alive despite whatever atrocities you've ever faced.
Sometimes telling yourself that it'll eventually get better, just isn't enough anymore.
Because sometimes bleeding feels better on the inside and it's a safer bet to drown yourself in the ethanol and pike yourself on a wooden cross in the front yard.
Sometimes trying to think positively is the last line of defense between your breathing lungs and your beatless heart, and it's ok to bite your own arms.
Sometimes it's ok to rip chunks of flesh from your own thighs and wallow in self whatever-your-choice-of-mental-poison-is.
Sometimes dying alone is not a big deal, and then sometimes it's the only activity you could ever possibly do to keep yourself from commiting a psycho-schizophrenic fueled genocide, because one overzealous "preacherman" told you that you are unworthy of rest, that one time.
Because every once in a while you need to hang yourself with a silk rope from an overdramatic oak tree, and that's ok.
Because sometimes dramatics are good for the nervous system.
Handful of pills, that’s how some of us deals.
Tub full of water, cuts deep to the wrist why even bother.
Drink until you can’t think, bang your head on the bathroom sink.
Hang yourself with your own belt, pain no one knew you felt.
A bullet to my head, somedays I wish I was dead.
Will I ever be good enough? Why does life have to be so tough?
Try to crawl out of the darkness alone, but in the darkness is where I must belong.
For every single thing I do right, it’s only my wrongs that’s brought to light.
Try to move on from my past, but when something goes wrong it’s thrown in my face fast.
For the demons I’ve overcome in this life, when I’m doing better they haunt me && taunt me and do it in strife.
Plastic bag over my face, suffocation.
Jump from the highest building, in front of the nation.
Not sorry for the occasion, I don’t care about the consequences I’m facing.
Why die so soon when there is so much to see?
so much to learn and someone to be
Why cry over words thrown out by an acerbic tongue,
why hang yourself up when there are so many discoveries to be done?
why exacerbate your wounds just because of some hungry hounds?
Why die in pain and let go of everything you have done in vain?
And why not die in peace than in pain
lie down and think again,
Why try the taste of poison?
When you can give the world a taste of your horizon,
Why sink in the deep dark grave of your tub
Life has just started and you are still a cub,
Why take pills and shut up your mouth
when there are so many melancholious tunes left to hum
and so many songs to be sung.
So why give up on yourself so fast?
when somewhere in there your quality is unsurpassed,
you take a step thinking that life is a bee hive,
But then one thing is for sure
your soul will regret this all it's life.
You can't be the bad guy,
then play the victim to,
you can't hang yourself,
then want a hero to cut down the noose.
You can't walk around making yourself cry,
we all know your like that cuz your f***d up inside,
manipulating those around you,
carefully placing your steps,
being cautious with what you say,
making sure not to trip yourself.
Not meaning what you say,
not saying what you mean,
is such a dirty way to live,
why can't you just come clean?
You poor little thing,
it must just be terrible,
you think I am oblivious,
this mind game your playing on me,
of noticing, I must be incapable.
Well someday I will no longer be your pawn,
this game will end,
and I'll find somewhere I belong
where there is no need to pretend!
Villanelle: What do you do if the Culprit’s the Country
What do you do if the Culprit’s the Country
Will the Head of State turn against the Police
Go hang yourself on the nearest pipal* tree
Which country faults on its own territory
When It cracks down citizens or migrant mice
What do you do if the Culprit’s the Country
Take the oath if it bolsters the Enemy
No pious paean will wash sins away, please
Go hang yourself on the nearest pipal tree
Your life’s not yours to take if not for Patrie*
Ribbons and medals on chest consecrate vice*
What do you do if the Culprit’s the Country
O! for the belles bells tolling the reverie
Look! My Country’s crown towers above cloud’s fleece
Go hang yourself on the nearest pipal tree
No country’s worth the life of one family
If the force that protects corrupts the Police
What do you do if the Culprit’s the Country
Go hang yourself on the nearest pipal tree
• pipal: since the pipal tree has no prop roots, at least,
in death you can serve to prop it up
• Patrie: French for Mother Country
• vice: French pronunciation, please!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
What makes a home a home?
Is it because you are there?
Or someone there?
No
A home is a home when you can hang your hat down
and not afraid you will mess it up
A home is a home when you can walk around in your underwear
and not be afraid you'll be losing it
Losing what?
Lol
Who knows?
Your self control, inhibition, whatever...
A home is a home where you can express your feelings
and not be afraid that you will be judged
as too sentimental, detrimental, temperamental
judgemental
Lol
You are never that, are you?
A home is where you hang yourself to sleep
on the couch
and do whatever
where you are perfectly fine in your own world
come whatever what may
You don't stir up for nothing
Yeah
I hope you can be like that
Anywhere you go
Because a home is not a home
if it's not in you
Welcome home, baby
I know I am
:)
Pick Your Poison,
Blade or Pills,
Rope or jumping but not for thrills.
Pick the way to end your life,
will you use a gun or knife?
Hang yourself and snap your neck,
What are you waiting for?
What the heck?
Choose your end and be on your way,
Death shall not wait all day.
losing dire hope
about the fire in your horoscope
walking a tight rope
working hard not to be broke
but what they pay you
is a bad head squeezing joke
but don't lose hope
don't drop the soap
maybe do a little dope
and definitely don't
hang yourself with a rope
use rhyme to entertain
the mental health scope
casual like
wearing a transparent robe
traversing the literary globe
the path where your destiny unfolds
paved in glittering gold
and you don't even have to kiss a toad
You don't care
For me, You
Never have,
You never believe on me,
I get betrayed
By you day by day,
I get hurt, I get
Burnt, I am hated
Everyday, I cannot
Deal with this any longer,
I hope you get shot,
I hope you hang yourself,
I hope you leave my mama
And me, and my brothers,
You don't love us anyway,
Just go away!
I wished I had a
Voodoo doll of you you,
That way I could
Torture you the way
You torture me.
You don't care
About anyone
Besides yourself.
I don't clain
You as my dad,
My step-dad,
I claim you as
A man who
Don't give a
****! I HATE
YOU! FOREVER &
ALWAYS HATE YOU!
I was begging that
Someday you'd love
Me. It ain't gonna
Happen! I HATE YOU
Dedicated To: Ronald Robert Kirchmann Jr.
Briana Lynn Palmer
Nobody has told me of Hell,
I knew a few things,
but nothing was like I witnessed,
for I wittnessed the end.
Nobody has told me of Hell,
and not many people really cared,
and honestly neither did I,
at least untill I saw it.
Nobody has told me of Hell,
but I know it has a bedroom to hang yourself in,
a bathroom to drown yourself in,
a kitchen to slit your wrists in,
and a living room to burn in.
Though you go through trails now
Trust in God,our refuge,our rock,
Let Him tell you how
Cause,on your hearts door He does knock,
Trust in Him and never doubt
For He knows what's in your heart,
Cause God will always be there to help you out
From,you He will never part,
Let the Lord be your hope
And,give your heart & soul to Him,
Don't hang yourself by the world's rope
His love for you will never end,
Let the Lord give you rest
And,help you in your time of need,
Cause,God's love is the best
Even if your faith is as small as a mustard seed,
He will never abandon you
So,when your sins you can no longer bare,
And,are ready to start your life anew
Give your burdens to Him, cause for you He does care,
Though you feel weak
Through Him you are stong,
Because,when it's Him you seek
To Him you belong,
When your trails come to an end
You will recieve a blessing,a great reward,
Because,to you many angels did He send,
From Jesus,our Lord,
Run to him when you need to feel safe
And,remember all it takes is just a little......
Faith
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