I tried to die at 12,
at 12 I tried to die,
And there was no poetry in it,
Not at all,
There was no rhymes,
Between my wounds,
And the only verses,
Were my scars,
But they didn’t mean anything,
There was no metaphores,
In sleepless nights,
I swear all that time I tried closing my eyes,
There was no fancy epithets,
For a girl crying, because no,
She didn’t want to call the ambulance,
Or ask her mother to come and see what has her little girl become,
It’s because suicide,
Has nothing to do,
With poetry,
Because the death of yours,
Will not be a pretty poem,
Rather,
An empty page,
Thrown away,
To be forgotten,
And eventually stained.
