The sky is dark with my broken dreams
Somewhere in the distance I hear children's screams
A wailing siren signifies my death
A final note, a final breath
The line of mourners stretches down the street
The sidewalk burdened under so many feet
It's raining, they say
Water soaks through the ground to meet my decay
Years pass until I'm forgotten
A faded memory, my skin foul and rotten
All my scars eaten away to bone
My skeleton lying alone
My brain is food for the worms
The weathered epitaph confirms
That I am nothing, a wisp of smoke
A stench of death so strong you'd choke
Then hands reach through the soil
To free me from my earthly toil
A bright, shining light
An end to the unending fight
Then I wake up from this dream
I've been asleep in my coffin, with no one to see
A/N This is possibly the only poem I have written as a joke. It was fun, but don't worry. I don't actually sit in my dark room and prick my finger on the thorns of a black rose all day. Then it would hurt to type.
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Please, Disregard
PoetryAn untold story from a misplaced generation, this is teen angst at its finest. These the writings of The Suicide Notebook, or how I'd imagine them to be. It's mostly going to be in poetry form, slam or rhyming. Keep in mind that slam poetry sounds a...
