I used to call him
When I was down
Knowing he would answer
We would talk about the happy stuff
And never cry
But now
When I want to call him
I know he won't answer
So I sit there
Crying
Because calls to heaven can't be made
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I made this poem because I used to call my uncle up and he would always answer. But now if I called they wouldn't go through because calls to heaven can't be made.
R.I.P Jamal (my uncle)
Stay strong
Wrist are for bracelets, not for cutting ~Kellin Quinn
YOU ARE READING
self harm and depression
PoetryThis book is things I wrote. Most are about self harm depression and suicide but some aren't.
