Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2015
I could be crying
On my hands and knees,
Coughing up blood,
Staining the dirt.

I could be hiding,
Locked in the bathroom,
Choking and lighting myself up,
The smell of burnt butane and flesh.

I could be dying,
Hung from a rope
Or overdosing on pills,
Unable to breath
Completely by choice.

I could be screaming my beliefs,
Cut my life away,
And nobody would glance my way,
Shed a single tear,
Say a single word,
Or ask for any reason why.

They'd just assume it to be lies.
Because all I am is a pile of ****,
So what could come out of my mouth
Thats anymore than *******?

If they don't believe me
Then they don't need me.
They never cared,
I'm just me, unimportant.
Unneeded, unwanted.
They'd all be glad
To see me dead.

And what if I threatened to do it,
To take my life like I always wanted?
Would they disbelieve that too?
It could be quick, it could be slow.
Just the pull of the trigger
Or suffocation by rope or water.

According to all of them,
Suicide, borderline and Gelotophobia,
Its all a joke, so I assume my life is too.
Gavin Barnard
Written by
Gavin Barnard  23/M/Michigan
   WickedHope and Miranda Renea
Please log in to view and add comments on poems