Short Suicide Note Poems
Short Suicide Note Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Suicide Note by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Suicide Note by length and keyword.
Undo this
And quickly.
Razors, the cut,
The Edge, bleeding
Endlessly.
I smiled because
Heaven took you
from me.
And I am not
far behind.
My body I leave
to medical science
to prod and dissect
to look at and inspect
let's see
if they can
make more of me
than I ever could.
There once was a man that was lackluster
Who's life was one giant cluster
Writes a suicide note
He slits his throat
Blank stares are all his family can muster
Sorry I cant change
20 years old, time to die
mum moved the mountain
Entered in "Any poem you want to write 50 words or less" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Yes I'm fake no moving parts nothing real or new about me.
Just another punk looking for a place or someones time to waste.
No this ain't a suicide note the easy way ain't as fun.
And I am nothing new.
Form:
Kept now as a shrine
His mother often visits
And recalls finding him there
She touches the rope
That bit deeply in his flesh
Sits on the chair he stood on
Imagines the scene
As he kicked the chair away
Suicide note in the bin
Before she left during that frigid night in December
She places a dying rose
With her suicide note
A rose that was once so pretty
To let everyone know
That even the most lovely
Things in life come to an end
co
Death - The Final Pleasure
I’ve never liked mysteries
Including death
When I die it will be all over
No more suspense for me
No! This is not a suicide note
Or poem with an unhappy ending
Nothing so dramatic or mundane as that
When death comes it will be the final pleasure
No more no less
You can guess the rest
Listen to poem:
Colour of the rose that I left with the note.
reddened eyes reading what I wrote.
Instructions for funeral readings I want spoke.
my motives and reasons I quote.
suicides my option the knife to my throat.
one single crimson drop lands on my coat.
nothing can stop me now, my depression had no antedote.
Very dark comp entry Its what came with Crimson 26072016
S U I C I D E N O T E
This rhythm is a tide
of blood oozing in sickly
veins to rainless bones;
stanza by stanza- clots
drip and stink.
This poem is music
to the winds,
to loose whiffs out
the window panes,
to hidden souls
afloat dark haze.
This poem is a suicide
note authored
by a depressed soul,
he heartened to
embrace the kisses
of the great beyond.
it is sin to read this poem.
Don't you see
It's not me!
Sad yet mad
Dry on glad
Goodbye when
Death dies then
Suicide sums
Sad outcome
Pain dies here
Feel sad sphere
Drop dead feel
Loss now wills
Suicide note
No more rote
Ash and bones
Who atones?
No more tears
No more cheers
Don't you think
Loss frames brink?
Candid code
Circle mode
Leon Enriquez
27 May 2017
Singapore
All things have fallen to the wayside
And I cannot bring myself to go beyond the front door
The coffee table is messy with unopened mail
And haphazard cigarette ash
Dusty knickknacks are silent and undemanding
Each with its own place on the shelf
The past is nonsense, the present is nonsense
This life makes no sense
Breathe in breathe out don't breathe
Death is the only sensation ... cessation...
All things have fallen to the wayside
And I cannot bring myself to go beyond the front door
The coffee table is messy with unopened mail
And haphazard cigarette ash
Dusty knickknacks are silent and undemanding
Each with its own place on the shelf
The past is nonsense, the present is nonsense
This life makes no sense
Breathe in breathe out don't breathe
Death is the only sensation ... cessation....
TO A FORGOTTEN SUICIDE NOTE...
On the gallows o time my soul
Hung in despair.
Faith released its terrible swift sword;
Least my thoughts forgot.
Least my thoughts forgot the footprints
You walked
To be free of the mystified feelings locked
In catacombs of dreams
Stroking spiraling smoke to blurred visions
Gone stale like yesterday's day.
Time passes and grief remains dissatisfied.
The deep wounds and scars of the past
The rigours and torment of the present
The blurry and scary pictures of the future
Like a stampeding Buffalo have destroyed my morale
Leaving me in the cave with the serpent of risky thinking faculty
With depression I have struggled
With thoughts of suicide I have wrestled
Guess it is time to gain freedom from this burning and tormenting pain
Guess it is best to end it all now...
ABSOL
We found her note
This was unexpected
It had just one quote
She thought life was worthwhile
Or so it seemed
With a smile
She always beamed
Never had we thought her
We just couldn't believe
The clues we didn't infer
We should've lifted her sleeve
It's hard to say good-bye
Why didn't she just talk
We could've held her high
But instead she chose to walk
We found her note
"This isn't worth it."
That's all she wrote
*Written on May 6, 2012*
I'm not your tearstained dishrag.
Will you end your suicide note with a hashtag?
Just lock me in the metaphysical gulag.
The real world's too much a drag
for a ***.
I am not digestible.
I am a hunk of pyrite lodged in the
jejunum of bureaucracy.
I am a precious and coveted
artifact hidden at the bottom
of a recycling bin, underneath
empty milk gallon bottles.
Their pungent swill is a grimy
filter for my blind beauty.
One day you will arrive.
Night will enter in your pores,
in your bones,
like a baby trapped in a borewell,
crying, striking,
thumping.
On each table, salt moaned
for a classical taste.
A pink moon was smothered
in a virgin bed.
Death walked in a sensual style.
A black discharge continued
from the areolae.
Botox failed to uplift
the sagging breasts.
A thallium capsule broke on tongue.
There was no suicide note.
SATISH VERMA
One day you will arrive.
Night will enter in your pores,
in your bones,
like a baby trapped in a borewell,
crying, striking,
thumping.
On each table, salt moaned
for a classical taste.
A pink moon was smothered
in a virgin bed.
Death walked in a sensual style.
A black discharge continued
from the areolae.
Botox failed to uplift
the sagging breasts.
A thallium capsule broke on tongue.
There was no suicide note.
SATISH VERMA
She liked to lose herself in poetry
Where she could wander off peacefully
And write of a world that was pain free
Where she wasn’t viewed differently
But no one ever read her words
Her recital of rhymes was never heard
This was a journey others thought absurd
As she wept with the sorrow of a caged bird
The last poem she ever wrote
Is the only one her mom can quote
In the form of a suicide note
Just before the pills slid down her throat
For long bookcase-bound,
Some books committed suicide.
‘Few readers were found’,
The suicide note had decried,
Sobered, the rest of books cried.
The shock of the news
Caused many in library
Feel a stiffened noose,
Some of them on poetry
Thought of mass hara-kiri!
_____________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |24.12.2020|
Topic: books, poetry
Poet’s note: More and more books are being printed, less and less, read; too many digital bytes chasing too few readers.
I'm truly sorry, please understand,
But life's burden has grown too grand.
In shadows deep, I've lost my way,
Seeking solace in the night's dark way.
My heart aches with a heavy weight,
Yet this decision, my ultimate fate.
Know that I've battled, fought in vain,
But now, in peace, I must remain.
Remember me with love, not sorrow,
And cherish our memories, more tomorrow's.
For in the afterlife's eternal glow,
I'll find the peace I never could know.
For Sara Teasdale