I'm sick of this subject...
Suicide; "I wanna die!"
All you do is piss and cry.
But you only let your fantasies
Play up until the end,
The final day,
Where you lift the knife,
And take your life
Then write it down in your book of "strife"
Don't think about those who've done it before
With a needle in their arm
A gun to the head
No one knocked on her door.
I never thought she'd be so blue
Her lips and eyes a neon hue.
I'm sick of this subject.
They wrote on her coffin messages of love
They mourned her death
Cried over the slideshow of her face that played above.
She had something worth living for...
But no one knocked on her door.
The rifle that held happy memories
Of all those autumn hunting trips
Holds now a single cry...
When it cocks it clicks...
And in the temple it makes a louder sound
But not so loud as she does
When her lifless body hits the ground.
She had something worth living for...
But no one knocked on her door.
No poetic cries for help
Nothing but the drug and the reason
Which, no matter how much we analyze, we'll never understand
Because she had something worth living for,
But no one raised a hand.
No one knocked on her door.
Don't think of the little sister
Who came home from school
Who found her companion
Dead in a red pool.
Who saw the gore
When she pushed through the door,
And cried out loud
"She had something worth living for!"
Don't think of the little brother
At the tender age of four
Who didn't know any better
Didn't know to knock on her door.
All he knows is she's not coming home
She's gone for good, with no letters to send, no pictures, no phone,
Just gone.
Don't think of the mother
Who cries to God, "Why?"
"Didn't she understand? She had us to live for?"
But blames herself because she didn't knock on her door.
So write you poems of suicide...
Bitch about your life, say you want to die...
But the people who do it, are selfish fools,
They don't realize what they've done.
They leave behind a stain of pain
That ripples and pools,
And can never vanish.
What ever problems were so hard...
They just leave us a mess,
Fuck cleaning up after yourself,
You don't need to worry, your dead.
Author notes
rizzo-in-the-box
Option #6
A contest entry
- apathy unwanted (dark and emotional) by R.J.Valentine.
500 points, ended June 7, 2007, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Hey I really liked this subject. I went through this stage about 6 years ago when I was still in high school. And sometimes once I got into the real world, I wish I could have offed myself, but unfortunately I'm to strong willed to give up that easily. Seriously, all you suicidal people out there, SUCK IT UP!! and quit you bitching, there's people out there with more problems then "OMG my mother's dead" Boo fucking hoo, how many other peoples mother is dead in this world? How many people walk around with their heads held high. Now you tell me which one is harder to do. Survive, or suicide.
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wow. excellent. i wasnt really after an anti suicide piece but i'll take it and i love it. good luck to you in my contest.
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this is so true..... that's why i try to keep positive about life because i mean alot to my family..and so does everyone else to theirs. I LOVED THIS POEM........FUCK SUICIDAL PEOPLE...they think they have nothing but they have more to live for then just pain. great job!
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This is a very powerful poem. You are so right. The people who love you don't know to knock on your door. those in pain have to reach out and let a trusted adult, hopefully a parent, know how they are feeling. As a parent of a teenage son, this would be a total nightmare. I would not be able to get over it. Your summary is best:
"But the people who do it, are selfish fools,
They don't realize what they've done.
They leave behind a stain of pain
That ripples and pools,
And can never vanish.
What ever problems were so hard...
They just leave us a mess,"
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A-fucking-men.
Dude, Thats fucking awsome. a-fucking-men. I know it's inspired by a real event that happened to you anf for that I deeply sypathise, but your so right. Yeah, addmitidly I used to be one of those Kids, but I've grown up since then. Now if anything I write about life and the meaning of reallity... But yeah, you don't care. The poem although a little simple, is amazeing. The fact that it's simple kinda adds to it though. Genrally I like poems where it only tells you 50% of what it means, so then you have to work out why the poem has done that, and what the other 50% is... But the way you laid it out with your repertission really "Hits home"... It cirtainly makes me want to salute you... Awsome poem man. Seriosuly though, I'm sorry you had to go though that shit.
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