all these candles tell me to die,
but one is my wish to live
When a loved one commits suicide NO ONE wants to talk about it
Not about the person, the pain, the act,
they avoid it like the plague
Just because my son took his own life,
does not mean he was not a special person
HE was a kind, loving, giving human being
Just because he took his own life does not mean
he does not deserve to be remembered-
He does deserve for his name to be spoken
Just because he took his own life, does not
mean that I don't miss him with every fiber of
my being, I do and I wish it could have been different
Just because he took his own life, it does not mean
that I wish the situation were the same as when he was
alive, I do not, he was suffering from extreme illness and
I only want wholeness and peace for him, which I believe
he has achieved. But I will NOT avoid talking about suicide
and trying to DO SOMETHING about it, because it is a
painful terrible thing and it will not be stopped until
people talk about it and DO SOMETHING!
She lay still,
within the rot of her festering limerence,
bleeding on clovers in the field beneath.
The red of the clovers
begins to darken with the crimson blood
spilling from her wrists,
as she fixes her gaze upon the lonesome stars above.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God."
She repeats internally.
She seems to find peace
in a sense of nihility,
though she desires death before being.
It's almost as she yearns for the feeling
of fester and decay,
eager for the obscurity ahead.
And with her final breaths,
she casts a parting glance
upon the clovers strewn below,
in search for any sign of luck
among her inevitable solitude.
A four leaf clover lay
within her stilled grasp.
Yet still,
dawn knows no delay.
I felt murderous rage and suicidal impulses
and understood:
I’ll never be better!
I’ll just be able to pretend better.
My life will always be the second option.
I’ll never be satisfied
or happy
or at peace.
But I can find it,
make it.
I can look at the destination,
Not at the road.
And I can mold it,
Shape it.
And I felt comfort.
And for once,
I did not want to die,
just yet.
I wanted to die
with a purpose.
I always felt like I have no talent,
But what if this is my talent?
To know how to die.
I thought living was a time where I didn’t know when my last day was going to be.
only I do.
I spent my time trying to fit in boxes that I’m not square enough for.
I’ve tried to fit in spheres that I’m not quite round enough for.
I’ve tried to fit in jars and I’m not quite long enough for.
I’ve tried to fit in picture frames that are just too big for me.
I can’t fill any hole.
I can’t fill any empty space.
I can only make it worse.
I write down the thoughts I need to say.
I say them and they don’t come out quite right,
They never do.
They look me up and down and left and right and they don't choose me.
Not even me.
I think and write all of the reasons why,
But i never can
Maybe because I talk too much,
Or I talk about myself too much,
Or maybe I was cocky that one day, even though I didn't mean to.
I don't understand.
“I have friends,
But I want more.
Ones that are real.”
That didn't come out right.
It sounded right when I wrote it.
Maybe that’s the reason they look me up and down and left and right…
Because they’re trying to see into me,
And they did.
Little Big Dot
My eyes are tired
Bloodshot
My heart is tired
Little Big Dot
Yesterday was hard
Tempted to slice
But my cat...
I'm running out of spite
Little Big Dot
Picked up a pen
Read a novel again
I am trying
Little Big Dot
My eyes are tired
Bloodshot
My heart is tired
Little Big Dot
Yesterday was hard
Tempted to slice
But my cat...
I'm running out of spite
Little Big Dot
Picked up a pen
Read a novel again
I am trying
I have a memory, somewhere in my head.
It's cold, it's dark and I am all alone.
I look at the stars, see the bright one on the right,
The one we saw together before you made me sad.
I taste the salt of my tears, that are diluted by the rain,
Which way do I go, I just don't know as I wander up and down.
People pass, nudging and bumping, I'm invisible nobody see's me,
There's nothing in my head just darkness,, then a flashing light.
I spin, or do I? Is it the world or my mind turning around?
Then suddenly I see much clearer, I'm not stuck, I'm free.
I know just what to do, I've finally decided,
I don't spin, I stride, I know now just where I am going.
The black river rushes beneath the bridge, foaming in whirlpools going so fast,
I stand on the bridge, I look up at the moon, I jump I am floating down as the river covers me!!
I once heard a warning from a sailor:
"Don't look at the ocean at night—the darkness offers an escape."
I wonder if it is the same for a soldier staring down a gun barrel.
As they run through dark trenches, fleeing death,does that cold metal cylinder promise a release?
An end to fear.The death of anger.
Or a quiet peace brought to a desolate land.
Many wonder, staring straight into that deep ocean of unforgiving quiet.
But peace demands a price in an empty country.
It means
a mother you will never see,
a wife you will never love,
a child you will never guide—
only eyes wandering a horizon that never ends.
But the sailor never taught me what remains unseen:
the sea always stares back.
It cannot feel your agonizing rage.
It does not share your lonely sadness.
It has no thought of family or friends.
Instead, it only waits for you to jump, and find your peace.
Death is not the enemy you believe
And death isn't what you should fear
Death we all shall truly desire
For only death makes troubles disappear
Death is not some fancy illusion
Full of smoke and mirrors to deceive
Death offers to relieve your troubles
And will accept all it can receive
With death there's no worries or regrets
Any wrong or mistakes they slip away
They all vanish and bother you no more
There's hardly any cost you must pay
What death offers no one can match
Nothing else can do what death can do
You want peacefulness to fill your life
Isn't the cemetary peaceful to you
Weed for a pillow
she lies,
not exactly waking
not exactly sleeping,
washed up on the morning tide
released from all the secrets she was keeping
I don´t want to see september come,
Wake me up when it is done,
on the 11th I failed again to silence the voice in my head...
now I wonder what if I actually were dead
I don´t want to see the 9th month again,
I wonder what my bed looks like since then...
how are the other sparrows in the cage,
And are the walls still beige?
I am done saying I am okay,
Because it will be a year since that day,
no I don´t want to wake when it´s september
I rather burn in flame and ember
I like to swim
But I love to drown
I dive deep down
I feel the air seep from my chest
It’s like I’m a guest
A guest in my own brain
My body feels all the pain
Why oh why do I like to drown
My mind relinquished the crown
The crown of control
With all the signals
Telling me to breathe
But I just squeeze
My hands into fists
It’s like a gift
To be able to sink
Without a think
Because
I like to swim
But I love to drown
Contest: Epiphany. 22/8/2026 Sponsored by: Constance La France
"To continue to live, can be an act of bravery." The poet.
Desolate and in deepest despair,
I had lost the will to live.
My tormented self,
wandered aimlessly through life.
Consumed with anguish and grief,
each sullen moment led to ending my misery.
Finally the day came.
I fell into a vortex of suffering.
Drowning in devastated hopelessness,
every ounce of my being became desperate.
Morosely I stood on the precipice.
My dismal heart could torture me no longer.
Despondent and forlorn,
I anticipated entering total oblivion.
As if from nowhere came a voice!
My melancholy mind became shrouded in doubt,
as I stepped away from the edge.
An epiphany clarified my impending mistake.
Today I live in peace to write this poem.
The voice simply said,
"Your hurt wont go away.
You will merely pass it to those that care."
Suicide Categories
Definition | What is Suicide in Poetry?
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