***possible trigger warning for those suffering from depression and suicidal thoughts***
Hey,
you there.
Sitting by yourself
all alone in a corner,
dark and shadowed
to hide unwanted tears,
an ocean silently sliding
down your cheeks
and flowing without an end.
Shapes pass by your conspicuous hideout
but not bothering to stop.
Because it's not their problem
not their concern.
When the chaos becomes silence,
the pattering of feet slowly drained away,
you will bring out a tool.
A tool of death.
It might be your dad's gun,
or a kitchen knife swiped from the table.
It could be a simple razor,
or a drug with needle-sharp potency.
But that doesn't really matter.
It's not like anyone will care how you died,
or the reason behind this freeing act.
They will just care that you finally did it.
Took their advice and offed yourself
before they did it for you.
Next your going to raise it up.
A gun to your temple.
A knife to your throat.
A needle to your arm.
A razor to your wrist.
Then you'll pull whatever trigger,
slice whatever flesh,
push whatever plunger,
That stands between you
and the escape of this Hell
that you call home.
Because even if you'll end up in My Hell,
it could never be worse than this one.
//again I do not condone the act of suicide. It is a terrible and sorrowful act that many people have considered and even done. Please get help if you need it. The world is a little more empty without you.//
YOU ARE READING
When The Blood Ran Black
PoetryWhen my demon decided it wanted out, there was nothing I could do to stop it. I could only watch as bloodied claws pierced my skin and shadows leaked through my eyes in black teardrops. It wanted out, and I was content to let it roam. >>>&g...
