Why aren't you like us
Why don't you cut
Why don't you feel the pain of the world around you
What's it like to be happy
To want to live
To want to embrace something besides Death
Do you not cry hours after
Supposedly going to bed
Do you not waste away
Not wishing for life in this
Absolutely awful hellish life
Is there no one who would
Not wish to be here
Why say there is heaven
If all that is left for us
Is Hell, the hells beyond
And a hope that can never happen
So we wound
If only so that
Maybe someday
Hell will be gone
We will be dead
No one will care
But at least we freed ourselves
At least we impacted the world
By improving our own lives
And erasing our own existences
For we are Suicidal
YOU ARE READING
The Lost
PoetryThe lost. The abandoned. The miserable. The world from our point of view. WARNING-Written in poetical style. If you don't like, don't read.
