I want to hear your voice.
I want to see you smile.
I wish I could hug you.
Keep you safe.
Hold you in my arms.
And tell you I am proud of you.
You're my precious friend.
I will always protect you at any cost.
Too bad Skype is the closest we can get.
I wish I could meet you my dear friend.
About one of my dearest online friends. She is amazing.
An old radio playing a new pop song in the background.
Some birds in the trees outside.
A family member cooking in the kitchen.
The breathing of your lover in the early morning.
Happy laughter from your neighbours house.
I can't get no air.
My chest hurts.
Slowly calming down again.
Being able to move.
That was strange.
In pain again.
The feeling of not getting enough air.
It happens a lot.
Random moments of pain.
And breathing diffeculties.
It is just stress.
I tell myself.
This makes me feel sick.
Most likely it is just stress.
Thank you stress for everything.
the fresh air,
of a lovely spring day.
Feel the air fill your lungs,
giving you energy.
And smell the scent of sweet flowers,
it's magical how such a small plant can make your day.
Feel the sun warm on your skin.
It gives energy and warmth to all.
And all for nothing.
Breathe in deep.
Simply because you can.
Breathing is nice.
Just keep it simple.
Enjoy the small things.
You think I romanticise suicide?
That I can find glory in death?
I don't hope for romance, there is no romance in laying six feet deep.
Being defeated by your own mind holds no glory, there is no pride in suicide.
Get over it.
You can fight this.
It's only in your mind.
And you're right.
It's only im my mind so stop telling me how I feel.
So shut up.
I know it's weak.
Selfish... but it is my choice.
I know you think it's a choice to be happy.
If it was did you really think I would choose this?
Trying to write a goodbye.
Wondering about the music for my funeral.
I'm always scared but fighting.
I am weak but never giving up.
Never giving in.
I don't think this is fun.
This is suicide your talking about.
Empty of joy and glory.
A way out.
For walls and a roof... sitting on the floor.
Broken dreams are like shattered glass.
Don't move! You will get hurt.
You will always get hurt when your dreams are broken and your hopes shattered.
The light is broken and it's dark outside.
Can't tell where there is a door or window.
Escape out of side. So why look for it?
You will only get dissapointed when you hope to find something in the utter dark.
The start of a poem. I want an extra part but I am tired.
Word for word.
A poem devolopes
Death, death, death.
An ongoing story of sadness.
Pain, pain, pain.
Each word rhymes with suicide.
Word for word.
A testament of my pain.
Every word another story.
Word for word.
A story is created.
Every word holds emotions.
And lost hopes.
But writing them down saves me,
from ending my own.
So bare with me as I write.
Because as long as I keep writing,
the story continues.