My mind raced,
Constant thoughts of death
Had confined me
Tears never ending
Telling myself over and over,
" I wish I was dead"
Blood had dripped slowly
Upon my leg and onto the floor
This blood surrounded me
As I sat upon my bedroom floor
I paused......
Cutting my wrist deeper then before
Knowing I was about to kill myself
Wasn't going to stop me
It never had.
Hoping my pain would soon be over
Made it seem as if I was insane.
I lay in my own blood
Crying,
Afraid,
Shacking and cold.
Wishing, and waiting for my last breath.
Then I heard A knock at my door
It started to get louder and louder
As the minutes had passed
I yelled,
" Leave me alone, just leave me to DIE".
The door violently opened!
My PARENTS!
They saw me
Shacking, crying,
And drenched in blood
And the blood wasn't stopping
I hit a vein
The one i choose two days before it happened.
They cried, They yelled, They asked Why?
There was a look upon their face,
That would make the devil cry
A look so hard to describe.
It killed me inside
When I looked into their eyes.
My body started to become weak
And my eyes felt tired
I heard sirens, But they were faint.
I passed out....
When I awoke
I was in a hospital
Nurses, and Doctors surrounded me
And I was restrained to the bed
Ensuring I wouldn't do it again.
My second time at suicide
Made my life like a prison
Constantly being watched
Day, and Night
24/7
Making sure I wouldn't do it again
I came home Sunday night
And I cut again
They can't stop me
No one can
I am addicted to my own pain
There is one person
The person I thought I hurt
The person I will always love
The one I became close friends with
The one I was afraid to tell this to
The one who helped me.
I want to stop
But I can't
And I will end up dead
My life became depressing as a child
And it will never end now
I'm SUICIDAL...........
Reviews
-
Um...wow...
If you're looking to write poetry to vent your emotions, that's all well and good. That's what personal notebooks are for.
If you're looking to write poetry, however, that other people will read and enjoy and feel a connection to, you're probably going to want to start over.
Blandly recounting a suicide attempt isn't going to do much in the way of evoking emotion in a group of people dedicated to poetry. We've all read the poetry about the blood and the tears and the knives and the screaming and the shadows and all of that. These are no longer evocative images for us.
Writing poetry requires you to *say something new* or to *say something old in a new way.* Concrete images are a good way to get at that. Descriptive language is another. Abstract proclamations that you "want to stop" but "can't" and "will end up dead" aren't going to do it, though.
Keep fighting with it, and if you're meant to be a writer things will fall into place. -
know the feeling... seriously. not fun at all or in anyway, especially with the parent things. the look they get is so bad... Keep living on. It'll change one day. If you let it...you can change yourself and stop...but it's hard and it takes time. It's like an addiction that sucks you in. work on it.
good luck,
adie
May 23
Edit | Reply