Bleeding (a long suicide poem) by poisoncade
The lips held a smile, the gentle flow of her hair
Underwater, no one thought she'd go there,
Once clear now the color of lightest rose,
Her eyes, and smile, the mysterious glow,
The sweetness of rose-water, the flow from her heart,
Filled up the pool she lied in, the saddest part,
Her heartbeat was less, the water took more,
Her death was anticipated, the gentle, pulling, lure,"
She would be gone, just a second to late,
to save from this so wanted sad fate,
The flow of her wrist slowing,
Anticipation was growing,
One more second, then death,
One last, final breath,
She smiled as her eyes began to frighten, then fade,
This was the last moment, of the role she had played,
The question, the pleading of why,
Now echoes forever, without a reply,
The absence of joy, the hardest battle to fight,
She finally won, sick of crying at night,
The Earth was cruel, and she decided one day,
This is my life, and I can cut it away,
Sick of the pain, the crying, the tears,
Her life withered away in a short number of years,
She endured the silence, the hatred, the cold,
She wrote the last chapter of the story untold,
And then she died, in the pool that she lie,
Not even the chance to murmur goodbye,
The question, the pleading of why,
Now echoes forever, without a reply,
Her smile was frozen, forever in place,
The essence of youth caught on her face,
The dim faded blush, the brightest eyes,
Who would have thought the image told lies?
Deep underneath that sweet facade,
The happiness was battling the odds,
The millions of cuts, still it won't be dead,
They're back, the hundred of images dancing in your head,
A razor, a building, pills, a great height,
Wishing to perish, to die, not to fight,
You push it back farther, but it will return,
To teach suicide, so many ways to learn,
You try to kill them, try but you miss,
The anger, the hate, another wrist-razor kiss,
The silent ways of saying goodbye,
The whisper of thoughts, no one wonders why,
The gesture, the lifting of heads,
To erase all their thoughts, you just stay in bed,
The laughter is a ghost, as if underwater,
Never again to be heard, just like they're daughter,
She was gone in a moment, so far away,
Saying everything, yet nothing of what she had wanted to say,
The water turned red, the sickest, sweet pleasure,
The sadness burned in her veins, the veins she would sever,
No one would understand,
Why she desired a razor in hand,
Running and running, trying to hide,
She told lies to cover the reason she cried,
They guessed the right answer, but she denied,
Again and again, she told no one and lied,
It burned in her hotter, the anger and need,
Another had done it she wanted to follow her lead,
The comfort bounced off her frozen cold heart,
Her parent came by, another facade to start,
She wiped all her tears, painted a smile,
Her tears had been shed, she would last awhile,
The securest moments, of hiding alone,
She reopened her wounds, and as they were re-sewn,
The cuts weren't just on her skin, they were in her soul,
Being torn to pieces, never really whole,
The desire to be what she wasn't, so strong,
Every movement choreographed she thought was wrong,
The mirror showed her a picture she didn't want to see,
Knowing who she was, and who she wanted to be,
She wanted to run, be the best and the strongest,
She would be the smartest, the one who lasted the longest,
The more blood that dripped, the faster she flew,
The anger had left, it was wrong and she knew,
The darker her thoughts, the harder she cried,
The nobody heard what she felt inside,
When her skin was cut, she thought of what she felt inside,
Completely separate, yet the same, was her fake suicide,
How fast can you run, How far and how long?
The wanting to be something that's strong,
A razor temporarily grants that lone wish,
Security craving? Another wrist-razor kiss.
Burning inside, the anger and hate,
You reach for something, to little, to late,
The hatred you have for people unlike you,
Your a freak, among freaks, as you always knew,
They say keep a diary, write down what you feel,
Fu*k that, instead I'll make a list for my funeral reel,
The burning, the voices saying your weak,
The taunting, the laughter, the taunting of freak,
The laughter that comes when you know that you own,
Something nobody else even dreams, being re-sewn,
The guess the wrong answers, they guess and they're right,
Will they remember on the funeral night?
They say I'm pretty, on the outside and in,
I'm not very pretty with blood smeared on my skin.
