Suicide

Birthday Blues

I was born 41 years ago today, 

A waste of life is what it's been.

I've never felt so worthless, I wish I didn't feel this way. 

It's true though. I've never been good enough for anyone, 

I'm a horrible mother and the worst girlfriend you could imagine. 

Life as me isn't much fun. 

I wish I could throw these feelings out the door. 

Find sunshine among the darkness and gloom 

Smile and laugh once more. 

But it all feels so pointless right now. 

Like I'll never smile again

I wish I Weren't a coward somehow

I'd make all this pain go away. 

I'd bite the bullet and grab a gun

And never see another birthday. 

 

Nowhere2go

Full speed, fantasy about being under my own tires, expressing myself getting even harder, Nowhere2go, not enough prayer for you, your mind is tainted and no one will ever love you, Dancing in holy white, hoping I get her attention, driving fast, gma come get me, fantasy about being under your tires, expressing myself getting impossible, the army saving my life, there are times where I breathe and I feel like im losing my life, my lungs are expiring and I'm gasping for air, and niggas around me can't even tell, Danielle, I hate that I still love her, fuck it, I'll see her in hell, I'm falling for a girl, who is the same, Jesus take the wheel, nowhere2go, there is, not enough prayer for you, I've spent my whole life depressed, I wanna end myself, my silence is golden as fuck, when I seem happy, people don't have to look, the shadows where they dwell, in the light wishing me well, I can't see and I'm paranoid, drowning myself in addiction hoping I blend in, I've been home for only a few days, and it sinks in, and it sinks in, no one loves you, nowhere2go.. I've spent all my life depressed.. thinking about death.. hoping my time is next.

Down the drain By jfarrell

Down the drain

By jfarrell

 

What do you want me to say?

I tried to live my life your way.

Ignore the anger, forget the pain,

Get knocked down, just to get up again.

Aspire to conform,

Telling no-one where I’m from.

Fitting in, don’t stand out

Don’t give them anything to shout about.

I tell you, it’s insane,

As I watch my life slide down the drain.

 

I try so hard to keep it together,

Like my horses, closely tethered;

Pay my bills, go to work

I play blind, as you treat me like a jerk.

Cutting names and snide remarks,

The Wolf inside wants to bite, not bark;

My teeth want to tear and rip

The Wolf within wants, from your blood, to sip.

I tell you, it’s insane,

As I watch my life flow down the drain.

 

I know a peace waits for me;

The pain I feel… I will be free;

I know there is a place… where I really belong…

The journey there…. not overly long;

A nick here, a slash there…

Well… we all know life isn’t fair;

My blood pools around me like a flower,

Lying here in the shower.

I tell you, I’m not insane,

As I give my life to the drain.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

for those who doubt.... look, i really can rhyme, hehe, and write a 'proper' poem

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Last Climb One Last Time

Folder: 
Struggles

Each moment, struggling to swim,

The sun is over; the light dims,

My hands grasp the jagged rocks,

Familiar feeling of faint fury--

 

stuck in a loop

 

stuck in a loop.

 

Rest as the waves lap,

look up and see 

the climb ahead 

again

Memory serves anguish

knowing each climb has been

slow and when it seems over

 

the tide comes roaring in

 

to claim its victim back

to its dark blue depths

 

the cold is setting in 

and I'll climb again

 

The climb, easy now,

The top, close,

Fingertips reaching and 

desperation, sets in 

 

Navy blue screaming to

Bring back its body

 

a smile sweeps across

as salty water erupts

 

At least I know this is 

 

the last climb. 

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Losing with grace

Maybe you are right Sally. Maybe I should never have expected anything more. Maybe it's hard because it's not meant for me. I am tired of fighting this. So here on the bathroom floor, while everyone else is sleeping peacefully not knowing about the complete failure I am, I give up. That's it, no more fight left in me, no more speed Scotty. I gave 'er all she's got, it wasn't enough.


I wasn't meant for greatness. No glory shown for me. I have always been a extra, straining to been seen in the shot. I was never the star. Not all mathletes are scientists and not everyone in drama club will see Broadway. I am not as special as I think. Someone has to loose this race. You said I shouldn't have even showed. I wish I hadn't.


I am all out of fight. My tank is on empty. I'm learning to be ok with being left behind. I was not designed for distance. My mother's old station wagon couldn't have gotten me very far anyway. I will live and die in the same jeans I wore to my high school graduation. Surviving is taking all that I have. I am not one to thrive. I am the nameless body that the TV detective pulls from the water. I am the understudy to the back-up dancers.


You told me this, Sally. You warned me all along. You hurt me only because I didn't listen. You were trying not to cause this pain. You said I wasn't good enough and I wasn't. You said I would fall and I did. I am not the star to shine but the black behind it, giving contrast to the light. I am the one that brings the little water bottles for the people that actually ran the race.


Leave me here, Sally. In the bathroom at 3am. I'll practice my losing face in the mirror. When someone else takes the trophy I'll be supportive and grateful to even be in the room. Sally, I'm done. I'm fine. I think the last of my defiance bleed out of me hours ago. It's now staining the floor and turning brown.


You were right. You are always right. That's why I hate you, Sally. But at least you're honest with me. You didn't try to sugar coat it. You said I would fail and now here I am, on the bathroom floor talking to nobody. Losing a argument with the crack in the tile, and willing myself to fade into the outdated wallpaper.


I can see my future laid out like a storyboard. I'll get up. I'll wash my face. I'll go to bed. I'll go to work. I'll grow old. I'll die. The stone will read "here lies the girl that say behind you in algebra". The obituary will say "have a nice summer... in the afterlife". I don't mind. Really. I was never part of this life, I was only ever part of the set.


Thank you for always being there for me, Sally. Always watching my back. Never lifting me up because you knew I'd fall back down. You were not a nice friend but you were a good one.


I think I found one drop of rebellion in me. One. I think I can fight what I was meant to be. Two. I will not live a life of nothing. Three. I will not spend one more day hating who I am. Four. I am taking charge, I am writing my own ending. Five. No more, Sally, no more late nights on the floor. Six. No more trying and failing. Seven. No more reaching and not  coming close. Eight.  I'll miss you Sally. Nine. But then you are coming with me, right? Ten. Ten pills should be enough. Better make it twenty. Goodbye, Sally.

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I went

I woke up today, and I put on my clothes and brushed my teeth 

I went to school, and they were waiting there for me 

I went to the bathroom, to get away from their killing knives and daggers of deception 

I went to my next class, and they tortured me while the teacher just laughed 

I went to lunch today, and they made me feel unwanted and I was feeling quite brash 

I went to the corner, and ate as if it were an art to eat uncomfortably alone 

I went, well, I went away and continued through this rutted blur that I'm trapped in 

It's the end of the day, and I finally force a smile because I get to go home 

I went home, and dad left, again, mom said he's not coming back 

I went to my room, I cried and closed my eyes, hopefully for good 

I went to sleep, my stomach was empty and my dread was full, I hope that I don't wake up 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Middle School

Free

She is forever fighting her demons.
They come out of hiding and dance
With her mind and consume her soul.
She wants to get rid of them but even
With the proper dosage of medication it only does so much.
She still has her demons mocking her.
They taunt her telling her that her life isn't worth living.
As hard as she tries she can't stop the voice in her mind telling her to end it.
Her devils feed off of her pain and suffering.
She can hear them laughing at her. 
They have her heart and soul chained.
She tries to break free. 
She yells and cries for help.
Yet her pleas go unheard by those around her.
She ponders if death would be an easy
escape from her personal hell.
She feels as if she can't fight anymore.
The demons in her mind and soul
start chanting to just do it.

The voice in her mind starts sounding like a broken record.

End it now because no one will notice that you are gone nor will they care.
They remind her that she won't have to wear a mask anymore, she won't have to fake her smiles and laughter.
All of it will be over and she will finally be free. 
As much as she doesn't want to she feels
that is the only way to escape her own personal hell and she will stop being a burden on those around her.
She knows deep down no one would care that she was gone, nor would they miss her. 
She takes the new razor blade out of its package.
She looks at with tears filling up in her eyes.
She knows she is making the right choice. 
Slowly she starts cutting at her veins.
The pain is nothing to what she feels inside.
As she watches the blood run out of her veins she starts
Feeling the peace she had been looking for.
The pain inside of her is slowly leaving as she watches the blood draining from her wrist.
A brief thought of its not too late to stop the bleeding.
But she is at the point that she doesn't care anymore.
Why should she?

Why she would want to live?

Why would she want to stop the bleeding when all of her pain that she has carried around for so long is now making a pool on the floor?
No one would notice she was gone.
The only good thing of it would be she would be
out of her own hell.
And the demons couldn't bother her anymore.
They would finally be gone.

She would be free from all pain.

Maybe through death she could find the peace that
she could never find before.
Her tormented soul would be free forever from all things and her demons will be gone. 
With that she watches the razor blade disappear into the puddle of blood on the floor. 
A real smile finally comes across her face as she feels herself leaving this cold world and cruel world.
She is at peace for the first time in her life and she is finally free of the things that kept her bound.
She is free of everything.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Like many people with depression, I had decided that I was fine and better. I didn’t need anymore medication. Then on this roller coaster ride of depression, comes the yay I’m better for awhile; then comes the crashing blow; you aren’t better you just went and fucked yourself up big time. And that’s what happened. Without meds for a bit plays with my head. It lets in some shady fuckers. And when they come to play, I will tell you it’s a fight to see who will win. 

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Suicide isn't a Thank You - Collaboration Work

Suicide isn't a Thank You

 

SachikoMochiko & SinisterPotatoe (Jack)

 

“Jack!” my heart falls into a deep, dark, cold abyss as saltwater crystals rush like a waterfall down my cheeks. He ended it. Officers held me back, refraining me from attending his bloody body…his soul has left.

 

Three months’ post-Jack’s departure, I scuffle his belongings. The old apartment was dewy and rusty at the same time. My calloused fingertips hover past a dusty paper. Hidden. Hidden behind his mirror. I carefully unfold the dust-magnet flat. A poem:

 

From the hollow pit of my emotions, I’ve reached the end

 

The end, that determines my fate…

 

I’ve reached the end, my only friend

 

The end, that leaves me bent

=

 

Around the bend, regards have been sent

 

The very bend left the very dent

 

As I fend off the reality…I’m bent

 

=

 

O’ since the blood drips to my fingertips

 

We struggle…I struggle

 

I know it’s hard, we’ve come so far, but everything will eventually be over

 

Like a story…all stories end, eh?

 

So, I’ll be the one to end it

 

=

 

What goes up must come down…it’s the law

 

But the law isn’t any determinant…

 

We protect the law, right?

 

==

 

Shhh…

--

 

Before my empty shell is found dead

 

Before my empty shell, where my soul left, morphs back to the Earth…where I belong

 

 I promise not to frown

 

 If you’re still in town, I beg you visit my grave,

 

 but I’m sorry my sadness wasn’t a faze

 

And if your soul is more than grazed by my departure

 

Know that through all the torture and the pain,

 

Through all the blood, the tears and the wails…

 

 you were the one who kept me sane

 

==

 

Surely, this is an excuse

 

Well, my only friend…

 

I am mistaken, I am not bent

 

I am not dented

 

But I am broken…unable to function anymore,

 

in this beautifully rotten world

 

=

 

Sunshine or rain, I beg you to refrain from crying,

 

 because at least, I am healed through death

 

I’m biding my holy time, with every new rhyme it’s a struggle. I can’t smuggle happiness back into my life…

 

It’s against the law…the laws that I wrote inside my young, naïve mind

 

The very laws that kept me in this cage

 

With all this baggage and luggage, I act like I’m at peace

 

At heart, I’m being weighed down by myself

 

I pound at the barrier between me and others, my prison,

 

I’m chained and bound, pulled down, buried in the mud, I was forgotten

 

But I’ve risen above it

 

I love it, life, and every knife in the back has brought me a crack in the wall,

 

however small, someday I’ll break free

 

I’ve brought forth emotions that have sought to honor the ones who never run from my side

 

I don’t abide by reasons to cry unless they are tears of joy or a new way to get stronger

 

When I rot, when my body is nothing but issue

 

a goner north of my goals, dead in my hole at least I’ll know my soul was honorable

 

And if your sad, don’t be

 

I know you think suicide isn’t a thank you, but it’s a sign of escape

 

Escape from this prison that binds me…

 

Twists me…

 

Bends me…

 

Breaks me…

 

Have faith, my honors always been a stake, don’t worry, fake words, tongues that lie will eventually break

 

===

After all, what goes up must come down

 

 

And when that happens you will no longer frown, stick around and keep your mouth shut until you have the right to speak

 

Because suicide may kill me, and weak freaks are fodder for lies, and propaganda flies its flag until the target dies, but words won’t kill the truth

 

And even though I’ll never know it, you will, write the story, and don’t worry about me

 

I’m already free

 

-Jack

 

Once again, saltwater crystals flow down my cheeks. By not like a harsh waterfall, but like little fairy steps, tickling down my sullen flesh.

 

“May your soul be free”

 

 

 

 

This is an extended version of SinisterPotatoes (Jack) original poem Suicide isn't a Thank You. See it here: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/SinisterPotatoe/1972625/

Hope you like it! (especially you sir, SinisterPotatoe (Jack))

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is an extended version of SinisterPotatoes (Jack) original poem Suicide isn't a Thank You. See it here: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/SinisterPotatoe/1972625/
Hope you like it! (especially you sir, SinisterPotatoe (Jack))

Just added a little tang to it...that's all - SachikoMochiko


How I can improve: Quote from JayG


• “Jack!” my heart falls into a deep, dark, cold abyss as saltwater crystals rush like a waterfall down my cheeks. He ended it. Officers held me back, refraining me from attending his bloody body…his soul has left. 

This has emotional impact when you read it because you know who "Jack" is. You know who's speaking, who's bloody, and what they are to each other. You know where they are in time and space, and what's going on.

In short, you supply the emotion content as you read, because the words act as pointers to images, information, memories and more, all stored in your mind.

But the reader has only what the words suggest to them, based on the words they've read to any given point. So for them, your words act as pointers to images, information, memories and more, all stored in YOUR mind.

You either need to point to triggers in the reader's mind, or include them in the narrative.

Because of that missing context, when you reach the poem section, it's someone we know nothing about lamenting a situation that's unknown.

The voice "telling" this to the reader knows what's going on because they have context. You know for the same reason. The writer of the poem—that bloody unknown who's quoted knows. Even the officers holding this person of unknown age, gender, and situation back know. But you wrote this for the reader.Shouldn't they know, too? How can it hold emotional content for that reader if they don't view the events as you do?

In writing, context isn't just important, it's the key to reader involvement, and the reason that we need to edit from the reader's seat, not based on our intent. When we release our words, our intent, and everything about us becomes irrelevant. It's our words and how we place them, and what they suggest to-the-reader, based on their background, not ours.

Sorry my news isn't better. 

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

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At The End Of My Rope

Stuck in this place

Full of empty space

Where the deafening silence

Awaits a verbal embrace

 

Just one utterance of hope

To be given the strength to cope

And I will unwind the noose

From the end of my rope

 

Just one ray of light

To regain my sight

To be able to be set free

 From all of the anger and fright

 

Unable to bear

This mask of shame I now wear

To keep living this lie

That anyone will even care

 

But now it’s too late

My feet now fully off the crate

And my body is now free

 

From my minds loathing and self hate

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