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riaflowersPoems
The first time I contemplated suicide was at the age 13. Sleeping pills. Just like mom. I wanted to dream forever. Many more occurrences followed that year. The next was at the age of 15. Cutting. Finally had the courage. I took a broken shard of glass and I Finally found the anger inside of myself. Following that was the age of 17. Self inflicted pain. Heartache seemed worse at the time. I dug my nails into my skin. Making scars seemingly physical now. I finally found a way to release the pain. Last night, I contemplated suicide. I promised that I wouldn’t go through with it. But who cares? Who could stop me? Who would want to? I’m happy. I swear, I am. You know I am. I only fake it a little bit. But sometimes, I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think I can live anymore. At least not by myself. I hated myself, And time and time again. The hate seeps through the bleeding cuts. Sometimes I starve myself. Sometimes I hurt myself. Sometimes I hate myself. Sometimes I contemplate suicide. But tonight I cut the pen into paper. Bleeding out my vulnerability in hopes to die poetically.
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Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 1:51 AM UTC
Poetic Suicide
The first time I contemplated suicide was at the age 13. Sleeping pills. Just like mom. I wanted to dream forever. Many more occurrences followed that year. The next was at the age of 15. Cutting. Finally had the courage. I took a broken shard of glass and I Finally found the anger inside of myself. Following that was the age of 17. Self inflicted pain. Heartache seemed worse at the time. I dug my nails into my skin. Making scars seemingly physical now. I finally found a way to release the pain. Last night, I contemplated suicide. I promised that I wouldn’t go through with it. But who cares? Who could stop me? Who would want to? I’m happy. I swear, I am. You know I am. I only fake it a little bit. But sometimes, I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think I can live anymore. At least not by myself. I hated myself, And time and time again. The hate seeps through the bleeding cuts. Sometimes I starve myself. Sometimes I hurt myself. Sometimes I hate myself. Sometimes I contemplate suicide. But tonight I cut the pen into paper. Bleeding out my vulnerability in hopes to die poetically.
#suicide#death#pen#poetic#vulnerability#starve#hurt#knife#cut#heartache
riaflowers
Written by
riaflowers
22/Gender Fluid/USA
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 1:51 AM UTC
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