Suicide. Poems - Poems about Suicide.

Sulking By The Shore

Silently sulking
By lake's soothing sounding waves.
Singing beneath stars.
Imagining sinking down:
How sad it would be to drown.

Stars and Scars

The scars on my arm aren’t here for you to touch there not art for you to discuss it’s non of your business where there from or how they came to be it’s not your place to discuss them with your friends cuz that’s not concern it’s ridicule and disdain

My Dying Wish

This is my dying wish
Give my babies one last kiss
Tell them life isn't fair 
But their daddy's  always there
Don't bary me in the ground
Spread my ashes where they can't be found
Have a party if you will
Tell others that you love me still
Life was more then I could take
This was the only choice I could

MY DAUGHTER IN LAW SUICIDE ATTEMPT HOW I SAVED HER LIFE

MY DAUGHTER IN LAW SUICIDE ATTEMPTS SHE ARRIVED FROM MIAMI BROKEN BY A DOMESTIC VIOLENCE RELATIONSHIPS WHILE ATTENDING COLLEGE HER EXPERIENCING USING ECSTACY MOLLY'S DRUG OF CHOICE FOR COLLEGE STUDENTS MAXING OUT DADS AND HER MOMS CREDIT CARDS SHE WAS PRETTY BITTER NOT KNOW WHICH WAY TO GO SHE ARRIVE EITH TWO BLACK EYES AS

What was his problem??

What was his problem?
He never did anything below the belt in this world.

What was his problem?
He never looked at a girl with the wrong sense of commitment.

What was his problem?
Looking at every possible thing in life
and trying to enjoy it,
even when he was suffering deep inside.

What was his problem?
When he was told he should be

I would let him die

I would see him die, rather than saving him.

I don't know what his life could be after he dies, or if he would be saved.

If someone dies, that person is remembered, would be praised for his good deeds, or criticized for words he never meant in that way.

But I will have the thought that he

Take my hand

Yesterday you lied
Yesterday you cried
Yesterday you wish you died

Today you sit
Today you quit
Today you have no wit

Tomorrow you keep
Tomorrow you weep
Tomorrow you may even leap

Take my hand

I insist
Don’t resist
Let’s persist

Together we’ll band
Together we’ll stand
Together we’ll never land

When they failed black kids without homes

Her hair stood out
Reaching for the skies
Wishing on every star at night
Someone would hear her cries
Her need to have a life she doesn't just have to survive 

The chaos of hair confused
Unsure how to keep it or what to do
She is the only one in the room
That had hair that flew 
Just a child without

Inevitable Procession

If you were to ask me
Be the one to catch me, before i take the fall
You'd be the only one waiting, afterall
For whence i open my mouth and
Spill a sea of pills tinged with reddened liquor 
I think you'd listen, then
If i took advice from any voice, it'd say 'give up'
But then again the only

Fragile Days

The sky shifts slow,
heavy with unspoken storms.
Breaths come shallow—
a tightrope walk on frayed threads.
Yet inside, a quiet fire glows,
rising through the cracks,
refusing to be snuffed.

That's what I Get

Right when i thought it was time to start (that's what I get)
Everything started falling apart (how could i forget?)
Broken heart
Finding out I was never a part...

As soon as I think I've found (that's what I get for thinking)
What I think is stable ground (how could i keep forgetting?)
I start to hear a familiar sound
My

The Manifesto I've Dreaded To Write

I’m sorry I never fit inside the rooms you gave me.
The walls bent inward,
doors swelled shut,
and I mistook silence for safety.

I’m sorry —
I’m sorry for every quiet collapse you never saw,
for the teeth I swallowed instead of words,
for becoming a stranger in the house you built.

I’m sorry —
I’m sorry for leaving them in the dark,
for

Dead Head Fred

Fred wed, Fred said

My wife chose another man's bed

Fred bled, Fred's dead

He chambered a round in his head

Oblivion’s Comfort

I wake to the desert, talking to the wind;
its voice is dry and muffled.
Sand cuts my skin as I walk;
nowhere feels like a place I belong to.

The seeming figs glow like a distant fire.
My feet are melting with every step I take.
I lose my balance when I stride;
I am surprised as the light darkens me.

Flames

The boy who wasn’t picked

He sits in the back.
Not because he wants to—
but because he’s tired
of being picked last
when he dares to show up at all.

You don’t see him.
Not really.
He’s there, though—
in the bathroom stall during lunch,
because his gut’s staging a protest.
IBS, the silent screamer,
writhing beneath his ribs
like worms made of fire.

They say, “It’s probably just nerves.”
As if nerves

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