Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ashlyn Yoshida Nov 2020
I don't want to die

I don't want to live forever

I don't want all the answers

I don't want to skip through time.

Sometimes we all do.
SophiaAtlas Sep 2020
Twinkle twinkle little star
Let me be hit by a car
How I really wish to die
Jump off the roof and try to fly
Twinkle twinkle little knife
Help me end this wretched life
All hope was lost when I was alone,
I cried a prayer that reached the throne.

Addicted to tears shaped like the cross,
I wept aloud and found that which I lost.

Like a baby without a breast
I was hungry and starved, I needed to rest.

Weak without food I could barely see,
that The King had prepared a feast right before me.

Bestowed a place at his table,
I found grace that was fatal.

"Eat and drink and be joyful,
by faith my hope is bountiful."

When Jesus made me cry,
I knew, that for me he had to die.

By grace, through faith we are saved,
by the blood that Jesus has paid.

Completely God and completely man,
this Jesus was killed by human hand.

A sacrifice he was,
Jesus loves you, just because.

Resurrected from the dead,
Jesus is alive, no matter what is said.

Living and strong,
Jesus is with you, all your life long.

Jesus is building his house so big,
he wants you to come and see his Kingdom gig ;)

You are loved.
You are blessed.

In the Kings righteousness,
you are dressed.
Copyright 2020 coup de grace by Austin Woodruff

coup de grace (n.)
"a single blow or stroke, dispatching one condemned or mortally wounded to put an end to misery," 1690s, from French coup de grce, literally "stroke of grace;" the merciful death-blow that ends another's suffering. (Etymonline; Online Etymology Dictionary)
iamgone Sep 2020
my heart
no longer beats
my veins
have long run dry
but write me
into poetry
so i
may never die
i want to live forever, in your words
Mark Wanless Sep 2020
the human race is
mother and i must suckle
or die a rare death
Daisy Ashcroft Sep 2020
Roses bloom
When summer comes to call
But aren't we forgetting,
In spite of its strength,
The petals still fall.

The summer hides
When roses turn sour
We mourn the loss
Of its delight and threat
But it's still just a flower.

Now roses bloom
On your shirt and, Doll,
All the summers in the world
Couldn't make your flower of blood
Worth it all.
Isabella Sep 2020
Thunderstorms rage outside my window
Lightning blinks at it watches me cry
If I drowned in the rain, no one would know
Amidst the chaos nobody would notice me die
Rewrite of the last two lines from a poem I wrote a few years ago..
kiran goswami Sep 2020
Would they have still been remembered,
if they lived for each other instead of dying...
Maria Mitea Sep 2020
Today,
I just wanna die in your arms,

I hope that you took the CPR course
to save me!
****
Right hand, labours on. Burdened
by the clay of her body  
A stubborn limb.  
In tempered skin.

Still, her left
Passed in Spring.

It's gentle palm
Curls open.
Leaning into the
surly revolt of her body.

Summer swirled.
A haze of sun.
And delicate
forget-me-nots

Autumn threatens floods.
Swollen clouds loom overhead.
We brace for bitter winds
In the Winter of her life.

And the rain pours.
And the rivers carve a map.

And the days pass.
Searching the blur of her body.
A ****** wristwatch throbs
Pulsing past a beating heart
Mocking mottled skin.

And the rain pours.
And strength settles into the seat.

A soft creak of leather
Warms the room.
whispers of my presence
Saturate the cell walls
of her coma.

And the rain pours.
And unearths an infinite truth

A graceful dance. She flees
The wreckage of her broken body,
Expired lungs exhale all suffering.
A parting gift.

And the light guides.
And she sets sail.
And the light guides.

A compass tears through swollen skies.

And the rain pours.
And the floods rise.

And the banks burst.
And the rain pours.

And the rapids
Drag me into the gutter.


By Anna Grace Du Noyer
A poem about the end of life. Influenced by the profound event of my Mums death and unexplainable higher existence of which I'm.now sure. And being left behind. : the poem contains graphic imagery of end of life experiences. Caution is advised if this could affect you negativly.
Next page