Wondering the silent streets of night. Silence means death. Death is nice. Peaceful. Life if harder. No breeze. Cold but warm. Still but moving. Silent. Silence. Shush. Listen.
Climbing from branch to branch like a monkey not wanting to fall but all thought are just about letting go of the branch and plummet down on the conceted
Paths of darkness. Death through trees doesn't seem bad but terrible. Terrible but the best thing ever. The best thing ever but the worst thing in the world.
Vision blurry. Persuading you're crazy. Ending the pain will be easy but the hardest thing ever. Hardest thing ever but the helpful thing to you. Helpful to you but the least expected thing most to others.
Breathes getting heavier and harder. No. Can't do this. Yes. No. Arguing in your head about what to do. The trees begin to sway slowly but harder knocking you out of the top branch. Falling. Silence. Nothing. Death through trees. The best way to go but the worst. The worst but the painless. Painless yet painful.
YOU ARE READING
Death is like a dream...
PuisiPoems about suicide, anorexia, self-harm etc. trigger warning now before read as I don't want to be sued thanks ❤
