*Suicide Week Poem*

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Hey, guys. This is a poem I wrote for Suicide Awareness Week. It is based on real events, and I hope you enjoy.

Submitted: March 23, 2015

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Submitted: March 23, 2015

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I used to tell myself that things would get better,

That they're not as bad as they seem.

But that was a different time -

When a razor wasn't my relief

And a smoke didn't ease the pain.

Back when the pain wasn't all that bad

And when depression wasn't my life long friend;

When I still thought that life was beautiful

And I never wanted it to come to an end.

But that was back when happiness was alive inside my heart;

And my smiles weren't just masked on lies.

Then came the screaming and then came the tears;

Then came the breaking and then came the fears.

Things are different now,

I can see the truth.

I could see through the lies and straight into your eyes.

I could see all the yelling,

The control demanding seams.

And what scared me the very most was all the beds inside your eyes,

Showing all the late night fun,

What a whore you've become.

Things began to change

And I could no longer feel the pain.

Blood was my relief –

Every single day.

And finally one day -

The pain just wouldn't go away.

I always told myself that things would get better,

That they're not as bad as they seem.

So I raided raided hr bedroom bathroom and took every bottle I could.

I popped them all down my throat -

Until I wasn't myself anymore.

I wanted to be out,

I wanted death to come and take me,

But he decided it was too early for yet another friend.

They sent me away, saying I wasn't a stable case.

And the day I got to go back to that hell hole I call a home,

There were so many bottles on the floor

That I didn't even know where to go anymore.

That night she entered my room,

And she got a good slap in before she said this thing,

“Just go on and do it, I hate you anyway.

Kill yourself dead and my pain will go away.

No one cares about you anyway.”

These weren't my own,

They were from a mother I used to adore.

And they'll stick with me always,

`Cause these words define my pain.  


© Copyright 2020 Zephaniah13. All rights reserved.

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