This is the last poem to ever be written
The very last rhyme to come down the line
We'll look back on it all, this thought in the making
And realize the decision was not taken light

With poetry reflecting the heart as it's given
Sometimes filling the spot in an unmade bed
Breathing into the moment words that are living
A thousand times over, what must be said

This is the last poem to grace these pages
The last piece of poetry leaving all this behind
Last in a line of heart felt words being delivered
Giving a blind notion a sliver of natural light

The last poem to show up for the party
With nothing prepared before they shut out the lights
All dressed up with no where to go
As it steps through the door in its last goodbye

The stretch marks that you left on your mothers thighs
will hurt her far less than the lines you will leave
on your suicide note.
Stop and think for a second.

Last night I dreamt I committed suicide;
and it wasn't beautiful or poetic
it simply was yet another death.
I felt boneless and dizzy as I awoke on the dawn
of yet another day.
The sun shone through cracks in my window but
relief never came of not having that dream real.

Last night I forgot to sleep, I forgot to feel;
and I didn't toss around my bed but laid
as a corpse does in his casket.
I felt numb and yet somehow disappointed
of not having someone to scare away this beast.
This beast that clings to my body like a second skin,
this beast which eats away my sun,
this beast that grows with the ennui of life,
this beast which spits on raw wounds of my flesh.
It keeps me caged,keeps me inside,
belittling me and snickering just when I have managed
to get a foot out the door-
so I step back in and close it firmly shut.

Last night I prayed to anyone who would listen
and it was poignant and pathetic because
I awoke to another bright day of laughter from my peers
and I could do nothing but stare from a faraway place
with white noise stuck in my head.

I remember the first day,  I walked into class,
At seven years old saying "This will be a blast!"

The classroom was full, the bell did ring
Lessons being taught, so it begins

Recess starts, the teams are split
Standing alone, the last one picked

Slowly it starts, as laughter and fun
but deep inside, I am seeing no sun

The nicknames had started, not laughing inside
but what did I do, starting to cry

Never belonging or being accepted
being myself, I felt dissected

From 2nd to 3rd and up into 8th grade
the bullies got worse, fearing into fade

Freshman to Senior, I thought I was stronger
Hitting my point, it started to boil over

It was one little word that threw me over the edge
Couldn't take it no more, all that was said

I stood up to the bully, on that great day,
all was released, feeling no shame

But it doesn't stop there, the torment goes on
At night, I dont sleep, I just sing a song

That song never ends, forever on that round
it never skips a beat, listen to the sound

Decades goes on, never forgetting the names
What has happened to me? Am I going insane?

These are the first names that tortured my young soul
Always in my mind, but never letting go

So Danny, Robert, Terry and Andy
You are not very special or very well dandy!

Oh Michael and Chuck and Bill, I remember
stand up to call, hell is your number

Chris, Steven, and even Brad
Life's but a mystery,  so why are you so sad

I tried to forgive you deep in my heart
Why did you bully me? TEARING MY WORLD APART!!

So you say poems don’t sell
ain’t no buyer for your works
arduous hours of a job done well
go down the drain fetch no perks!

You’re right poems do don’t sell
though you fill them with heart’s spice
by the hour growing weary and frail
you surely can’t feel any nice!

A dollar a poem how fine it would be
add a dollar a read to it
but poems are meant to be sold just free
you aren’t to be paid for the feat!

But you’re wrong poems do sell
them the readers do buy
when to their heart your thoughts travel
and their spirit soars up sky high!