Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Elsie Greek Dec 2022
When the time comes
to suffuse with cerulean,
It'd better be us
To come up with utopian
Never warned but
It's always a hot mess:
Lights, a decorous manner
             Of telling the truth,
So bombastic each trimming
                  Of your spruce!
Yes, guests..If only
    With obsequious manners,
           And de minimis SADs.
We will toast with
Most tarnished of their plights
To such a pandemonium!
We will wager in candlelights
To never cease
This ferociousness over the feast.
How can this be measured
                        By what it seems
In a moral world desperate
                                    To digest
Everyone, given it a chance
Until there's a fetid nuisance.
So, it'd better be us.
utopian ferocious cerulean suggestion
Ara Jan 2022
[do you have a suggestion?]

my brother pauses, turning to me;
"because you're full of great suggestions,
but you always say them too late."

he means no harm by it,
yet how do i put a name to this silence?
shutting up in compliance?

       —i shoved cotton down my throat,
       now i can't breathe—

when did the echo become louder than the scream?
maybe it was vegas, twenty-nineteen.
maybe I was never allowed to dream.

how do i speak my voice back into existence then,
when i can no longer remember its sound?
whispers, snuffed out so many times i've lost count.

[i forget.]
Copyright © 2022 Aranza V. Soto Torres. All rights reserved.
Kenneth Gray Nov 2020
Hello suicide!
Its been awhile
Remember me?
Yer ol' buddy Kyle?
I need your assistance
To escape from this trial
Forgive me friend
If I'm unable to smile

Ah, yes! Kyle, of course!
Forgive me bud
If my voice does sound hoarse

I've been hanging around
Don't you see?
I'm glad you've swung by
To console in me
For my first recommendation
Is hanging
Yes, in fact
This is my plea
Might I suggest a rafter
Or perhaps a nice tree?
This ones on the house
Yeah, this one is free

Ah, yes! A hanging
But if I were to do that
A rope I would need
Not only that
But I could be rescued
And freed
Do you have another?
Please forgive me suicide
Forgive me for my greed
What else can I do?
Please consider my plead!

Ah, yes! I can do one more
But I'm growing tired and weak
And my neck is still sore

Take a handful of pills
And overdose
This I know you've tried
And you came really close
But you can't be easily rescued
And you don't need a rope
Do it! Destroy your dreams!
And trample your hopes!

Excellent! This one sounds great
For sure!
I do have a decease
And pills might be the cure
But what if I live
What if my body endures?
But this option has potential
And it has great allure
I'll consider this option
To you, I ensure

Well, well, well!
Look what we have here!
Looks like I'm successful
As if a death is near
Theree no need to panic
Theres no need to fear
However, I do need payment
So start paying in tears!
Now RIP my good friend
Its been fun mate, cheers!
I've dealt with suicidal thoughts alot in my life. So this is kind of like the dialogue I have with it. As if we know each other and were friends.
annh Oct 2020

I write to right the write-less, the unvoiced compendium of my experience. A

panoply of shadows between each line and behind the fumbled words miswritten

out of loyalty to the fiction I maintain. The letters which move beneath the page,

scintillating with suggestion, leaving their impression - a glimmer here, an echo

there; they are more honest than the fraught narrative that I deem fit to 'save'. I

write to right the write-less, to balance the unwieldy, to illuminate the intangible.

‘Every act of reading is an act of forgetting: the experience of reading is a palimpsest, in which each text partially covers those that came before.’
- James A. Secord, Victorian Sensation: The Extraordinary Publication, Reception, and Secret Authorship of Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation
[Offical Full Poetry]

Those concerns are gnawing
my world like a rat

A tiny tittering can heal
many broken hearts

Done much hiding
from the stress

Blood, sweat and tears
it makes you breathe fast

Dear Anxiety,
You might break my own
but you can't bury a soul
it is free

© Muhammed E. K.  ☾  🅴  ✩
• Check out the poetry blog.

• 'Light In The Darkness' (a poetry book)
available on & Google Play

• Follow on Instagram
• Poetry Account  @lightinthedarknesspoetry
• Author's Account @eminkusaslan
Oskar Erikson Mar 2017
Once, twice, three times too many.
Sounds and shapes controlling the contrary.
Darkness, blackened abyssal, all of the above- Tricks and deception-
the leaving of love.
Lusting after loosing;
To find courage after fear..
Wishing and wanting those who once were dear.
Of course you'll find
your heart in pieces,
Not just one's two's or threes.
You'll find that a soul simply shatters
in a muted ambiguity.
Next page