Long Suicidal Poems
Long Suicidal Poems. Below are the most popular long Suicidal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Suicidal poems by poem length and keyword.
Deliberation about courting death rooted
throughout mine psyche fueling sinister chortle
at least since bout with anorexia nervosa,
but... maybe ginned blood,
sans umbilical cord transfused in utero aortal,
though long since recovered, the intractable,
haunting specter, sans grim reaper
intertwining within every fiber of this mortal
rooted, grounded deep, and branched out
into each nook and cranny portal.
Said notion provoked,
when made painfully aware
youngest daughter (aged twenty)
plagued with similar thoughts,
damn genetics did maliciously engineer
clutching telephone while
seated at edge of chair
did apologetically, despairingly,
grievously... did air
pestilential, penitential, plenipotential... scare
re: distraction and understandable fear,
she might unwittingly plunge
into hopeless abysmal despair
falling prey into irrevocable
deathly hallows lair,
though kudos for her
from me, this sole Harris heir
to communicate, (albeit
hesitantly) into mine ear
suddenly wishing thy
Punim to be near,
but residing (about three hour drive
southeast of Portland, Oregon)
with my kid sister, attentive to welfare,
a sibling whose persona
doth show tender loving care
and concern, this papa
felt reassured there
would be every action taken
with sixth sense to beware
lest progeny exhibits
pointedly obvious lurching career
dramatic slide into behavioral sink
emergency measures sibling
immediately would commandeer,
hence somewhat relieved thee dear
beloved progeny receptive to hear,
this dada expressed his unconditional love,
and grateful psychological intervention offspring
boldly did declare
indicative professional help volunteer
really asserted necessary to stave off
how dice throw of fate unfair
to said lass, whose demise,
would abruptly kill this sonneteer!
I was-
suicidal when my baby died-
possessed with death
when my love left
a name engraved buried deep
and went into a dark pit
running from life happiness was gone
self-murder
thoughts filled my days
I was locked in what was and not reality
the devil
whispered wicked plots in my head
diabolic hellish hari-kiri plans
then God spoke and calmed my soul
so I crawled
into the light embraced the world again
and vowed to help those lost as I was-
with no path but death in their future
I am a listener giver of hope a friend
when they are full of nothingness-
________________________
September 8, 2017
Free Verse/Suicide Prevention
Copyright Protected, ID 938275
Written for the contest, Suicide Prevention Month
sponsor, Laura Loo
Second Place
A shooting star streaks from on high
like a kamikaze firefly
whose fiery death's mandatory:
upon grazing Earth's atmosphere.
Yet, there's no time to shed a tear:
for its blaze is transitory.
Its trail of sparks can mesmerize,
as it plummets to its demise.
As in a fairytale story:
its epithet soon fizzles out.
Yet, its beauty's never in doubt:
darkness amplifies its glory.
A shooting star streaks from on high:
and its descent warrants a sigh.
A blaze of sparks lights up the night,
yet vaporizes in a flash:
ending its suicidal dash.
It's such a spectacular sight
that folks cast a wish upon it.
But it'll vanish lickety-split,
so the timing has to be right.
If you don't cast it straight away,
you'll lose your wish: so don't delay.
It must be cast during its flight.
A shooting star's destined to die,
and yet in death, it achieves flight:
burning its way across the sky.
(Dedication: For Robin Williams, RIP)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Feelings collide
Fatal attraction;
Odd triangle
Fiery heart
Burning fires;
So much pain
Grief beyond words
Barbecue burns;
Heart roasted kebab
Pieces of flesh
Raw nerves torment;
Jagged heartbreak
Pain beyond flesh
Psychic suffering;
Depression strings
What is not heard
How cannot state;
Nobody knows
Bad situation
Suicidal mood swings;
Inevitable end
No one can help
When things turn ugly;
Death and debris
Circle around
Mire in frozen ground;
Lost yet unsound
Sad beyond repair
Depression most real;
Deeper and deeper
Now who can help
You help yourself?
Nobody knows
Ending looms
In certain doom;
Despair dons death
Leon Enriquez
22 August 2014
Singapore
Everyone agrees that war is cruel
Everyone agrees that war is suicidal
Everyone agrees that war brings mortar, anger
Hunger, pain, suffering, death, horror and terror
But a nuclear war is deadlier, nastier and bloodier
More painful, more criminal, more diabolical
More devastating, more witless and more evil
Human being was born to put things together
To build, not to annihilate and not to murder
God created humans to make the world better
Not to destroy, not to burn or to shatter
A nuclear war would be a total disaster
No human is really dumb to have such a war
Let’s swear not to have a darn one. We can roar
Like lions to scare off the tigers. We can fistfight
All we want. The best way to test our might
Is to dialogue, to talk to each other like humans
To avoid the ruins and to find lasting solutions.
Copyright February 2022, Hébert Logerie, All Right Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
"Know that Christ is always with you,
TO: those who got their first boo-boo
Those who want to win a race
Those who want to pass the driving test
Those who want to pass the final exam
Those who want to graduate from the class/school
Those who want to pass the Spelling Bee
Those who want to make their family proud in the school recital
Those who don't want to be scared of their first haircut
Those who want to tough out for their dental appointment
Those who hope their appearance won't change much with their new eyeglasses
Those who hope their appearance won't change much after the cancer treatment
Those who hope that they get the new job/position
Those who repeatedly fall back to their old ways and habits
Those who are lost in sin and feel that they are beyond hope
Those who are deep in the shadows and that they are alone
Those who regret things that they may have said or done and are too proud
Those who are despondent because of a loss and have a need to fill the void
Those who are despondent because of a loss and are now unable to forgive
Those who feel unloved, unwanted, hated, despised, and so forth
Those who are infirmed
Those who are disabled
Those who are old
Those who want some company because they're lonely
Those who are fighting their personal demons and mental issues
Those who are suicidal for whatever reason
Those who were told that they had no medical hope
And to those who never had the opportunity to personally know him ...
HAPPY EASTER
C H R I S T H A S R I S E N
and He is with you, now and forever, Amen...
~~~~~~~~~
J
E
S A V E S
S
U
S
~~~~~~~~~~
Love always," ... by the Poet.
Always sad to see descendants of slaves with chains around their necks and wrists.
Some of my ancestors were hunted down, kidnapped, confined, sold, raped, flogged, exploited, gagged, tortured, executed, massacred, and dehumanized for centuries on the slave plantations of the Caribbean.
Too many dark skins were forced to curse their melanin, prostituting themselves on the dilapidated sidewalks of servitude.
Too many traitors among Afro-descendants.
Western prisons profit from carceral negrophobia.
Racialist statistics like the supremacist articles of the Code Noir.
I will not kneel for the death of a macaque who believed in the racist ravings of the West.
I no longer bow to their God since I read the Code Noir and the papal bull of the pedophile slave trader Nicholas V.
I am at war; I see the world through an ethnic prism, like the apostles of the Ku Klux Klan.
I loathe miscegenation when I reread the tragic accounts of the horrors of the savagery of slavery.
I do not raise my fist to the sky like a Black Panther.
I would rather brandish a Soviet Kalashnikov to defend my dignity on barren lands hostile to my Africanness.
I fiercely believe in the salutary brutality of violence.
You who read me are suicidal if you seek comfort in the rawness of my death-obsessed ravings.
I am neither a poet nor a dreamer.
I live the daily life of a hardened criminal in the labyrinths of the illicit.
I cannot recount the offenses of my judicial pedigree.
A worshiper of the principles of Omertà.
I am an angel if you mind your own life without poisoning mine.
I have never loved; I do not believe in love; my life is not glamorous.
Human beings worship the sweetness of lies over the warmth of truth.
Everything is clear in the stench of my incurable wounds.
Everything is written in the darkness of my indelible scars.
I am a free man.
I am not racist; it’s just that I don’t like your ugly mug.
I won’t tell you; you’ll know it by watching the flames of hell writhing in the depths of my eyes reddened by suffering.
My forebears survived the overcrowding of slave ships only to be displayed on counters by slave traders.
Heavenly Father, Thank you for all you had done for me.
You opened my eyes to let me see
Gave me air so I can breathe
Pour your love into me to let me be.
I come to you as a sinner.
So maybe someday, I can be a winner.
I cry you your name so I can be at peace.
My depression, suicidal thoughts and pain can all come to cease. The anger in my heart is something I can control
My mental state is taking its toll.
So please bring peace to me, my family and all friends I know.
Help me find my faith and my inner glow.
Show me compassion and let negativity go
Bless my heart and My son's love to the end
To you Heavenly Father and your son Jesus.....I say Amen.
UNCANNY
A poem arises firmly from my thoughts.
I can see it reflected in my adversary's mind as well.
Mine is undeniably poetic, but theirs had an unsettling quality,
Mindful individuals with unusual liabilities!
Those two or three long lines on the forehead are simply lines of expression. (not)
I do remember their names: Errol, Wayne, and Manny
Those suiters were born deceivers implementing a series of strange plots.
It took women like me years to correct their mistakes.
Where are they now, lost men without the love of a woman?
I had made it my mission to look into their eyes.
The lines on their foreheads have aged with their bodies.
An embrace or a touch from them disgusts me.
They can see the hate as I slowly reject their touch.
I have rewritten those names through the years.
As Errol transformed into Mr. Uncanny,
Wayne became the manipulator,
while Manny took on the role of Pied Piper.
Today, I observed a slight trait with Gen Z.
They seem overly enthusiastic about catering to the desires of their suitors.
Leaving so many of them with suicidal thoughts,
Words to the youth of today,
Protect your emotions carefully.
Getting a real love reaction is tricky.
The offspring of those vipers carry their father's DNA.
No Matter Papa Repents...
Every blasted acrimonious misdeed
aye indelibly perpetrated
affecting ye and the Punim for life
hounds me doggone soul night and day
venomous wrath torments, strangles, racks...
every bone in mine entire body
suicidal ideations haunt every
waking and sleeping hour,
perhaps previous attempts to communicate,
(albeit poetically - for no rhyme nor reason)
fell short, asper yours truly
to claim accountability, culpability, responsibility...
unwittingly subjecting thee, a prized progeny
with legacy, where
diabolical, emotional, psychological... trauma
compromised your care free growing up years
namely while residing at 1148 Greentree Lane
exacerbated by mine self absorption
countless hours misspent
whiling away precious time
mesmerized more so
with computer technology,
versus prioritizing fleeting moments
with "mother" and/or offspring
yes..he now pays heavy price
pursuing amorous liaisons
gallivanting, flirting, emailing...
impacting (obliviousness
pitifully lame retort unacceptable)
feigning much ado about nothing
snappishly barking anger
such vitriol (mine)
sabotaged once in
lifetime golden opportunity
to foster, kindle pinterest
with spouse and daughters
subsequently deepening rift
rivalling Mariana Trench
love's labour's lost forever
frittering away compounded
half heartedly seeking employment
even though - NO LIE
inexplicable debilitating anxiety
buzzfeeding panic attacks
plaguing my psyche
since...birth, incapacitating
maximizing potential abilities
playing havoc pledging troth
with counterpart exhibiting
mental health challenges
unfairly begetting deux darling lasses
thee bearing brunt of pennilessness,
at aforementioned residence
unlivable, horribly untidy,
toxic with mold, cluttered...
such offal sight, sounds of screaming,
(when Shana nonverbal), stench...
now suffer (PLEASE BELIEVE)
suicidal ideation plagues my conscience
pointed objects quite inviting
remembrance of things past,
a worse fate than death!
PLEASE FORGIVE DADA...?