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muteD Apr 27
Suicide never waits,
it just takes.
It takes and it rapes
and those closest to you?
they break.

It’s on a 2 week streak.
Go ahead and mark twice
on suicides line.
One survived and
the other...
and me?
It’s just a matter of time
and all I want to know is why.
Why didn’t he get to finish his life?
Why was it his time?

I’d trade my life
for him to live a second time.
only because I know he tried.
He tried to mollify
that pain inside.
Yet I could still see that hurt
in his eyes.
and what did I do?
I stopped talking to him for some time.
I didn’t know his sadness would be his demise.
Maybe then I would’ve stayed and rode the ride.
Oh how I wish it was all a lie.
I just wish he’d pop up and make a status like

I really wish it was all a lie.
Dedicated to: Shawn Starr
Cole Maxwell Apr 2
Hi, my name is Cole.
Grab a shovel and we'll deepen the hole where I've buried my goals.
They try to blame my soul for the peril untold,
Though, great fortune most of their lives do hold.
Molded after my father I was destined to be cold.
Alone, broken, I folded.
Unspoken moments in silence are just like King Midas,
The opportunity’s gold, but there's still violence way down, deep inside us.
When tribulations unfold, so does my situation.
Find me by myself, impatient,
On a narcotic vacation, wasted.
Taste the medicine I force upon myself on a daily basis.
This explanation only strengthens my self esteem’s annihilation,
So pray damnation is what I need to keep some kind of exhilaration.
Drawn away from elation, I take the bait and go on strike against my ****** up creation.
When I was 15, the world ended around me,
Cops and medics abounding,
The sight surrounding my plight, pathetic,
Regret was surmounting.
Twelve scars on my throat, they said the odds were astounding I made it, but who's counting?
(Plus the one on my stomach where the blood geyser was spouting)
Like intimate sentiments, death attached to me,
I learned how to live with it.
There was a time that this soul had a temple, now, just a tenement.
The second time I played God I succeeded in my ill intent,
Pronounced dead at the scene, my funeral was finally imminent.
Til I opened my eyes and the room was one I'm familiar with.
I was sure eleven Ambien would work for my benefit.
Why am I being kept alive?
It's like there's no possible end to it.
Multiple reasons as to why I am so sick of this living ****.
It's a given: derision and treason purged me of innocence.
I'm immersed in this intricate curse,
Coerced into impotence.
Teasin’ hearses became a profession,
Hurting became obsession,
Depression’s the path I traversed,
Along with aggression.
So you may have a few questions concerning
The wrath I possess.
And when I rise from the ash like Sylvia Plath I'll confess.  
When I emerge from disguise, the sociopath will profess
The explanation for suicide, and the urge to regress.
Cole Maxwell Apr 1
The tragic path to a self made torment is awakened in me. The inevitable remains paramount to death. Just as with those who cause me pain, I cause them pain as well. The Lost Vision becoming more lost. The undeniable lover questioning her motivation to stay. Such love I regulate within my heart. But still, the strength to carry on fades to black. The biggest struggle I possess at the moment is that of the Lost Vision. The greatest promise I intend to keep is driving the Lost Vision into madness. It fears my departure and careless nature, though through all the emptiness, I do not plan to leave the Lost Vision's life.
I've caused so much pain, so much worry and insecurity.
As if I've stolen a key to the door of their heart, never again to give it back. A prisoner in my own soul; a build up of guilt now from the inevitably caused pain to others from myself. The essence of God still not being discussed, for I wait for that perfect stranger still. He came once, but I lost him amongst the hopelessness. I strive to escape this hole I lie in. But now this hole has become my home, my wasteland, my reality. I can't apologize enough to you, the Lost Vision, for making you feel that I will soon depart. I can reassure you I am not leaving you now.
But still, I cause many people grueling heartache. I am given so much love, so much that it's nearly overwhelming. Yet I still dream of ways to throw it all away.
So many tears I shed over a broken mirror, broken in spirit. It lacks the ability to reflect my happiness. For happiness was also lost to the hopelessness. So for now I continue my days, waiting for the end of heartache.
Cole Maxwell Apr 1
Within the endless void in which I constantly dwell, I struggle more and more to keep my sanity from escaping me. The more I dwell, the harder it becomes to remain from a vast, parallel reality, which opens up to me freely. My own home, a sanctuary of hate. For myself, for this life I "live." I cannot depend upon myself for happiness and consolation anymore. Only a few others can provide these essentials. The lost vision; the girl by the lake; the undeniable lover. As I listen to ecstatic waters, and look beyond the lake in front of me, I witness the sunset; its wondrous power to bring, give, and nurture life. At this moment, I feel as if I'm waiting. Waiting for that stranger, that perfect stranger, to walk by and discuss the essence of God. The bench I sit upon: empty. God does not provide a soul to bring it warmth. You may ask, "How can the bench be empty if you are perched upon it?" I will tell you, I am no soul bearer. I have given too much of myself to others to have an inspiration or warmth to give to this bench. For I am only temporarily using its space for myself. Those in my life are very much alike. Most are only there for a temporary time. However, there are those who will be present for a much longer time. Unfortunately, the inevitable is the death of a dream. Because even though they are here to console me, I'm afraid they inevitably cause me pain. But nonetheless, if they were not present within my life, I would have no life at all. But what is a life without a soul? Put your head against my chest and you will find there is an absence of sound. I pour my heart out for others, and it keeps me from knowing my self. So for now I will remain, dreaming with a broken heart.
Cole Maxwell Apr 1
When I was 15, the world ended.
And it wasn't as spectacular as I thought it was going to be.
I had always imagined the sky tearing open and flames of fury would rain down upon us all,
But instead, it was my heart that was torn in half, and the fire only rained down on me.
It took 45 seconds for me to destroy everything that I knew,
and create an entirely different world,
Not only for me, but also for the people that knew me.
I was born again, bore the sin, more than anything horrible I ever felt, I was torn in ten.
Had I put a knife to my throat? Or fell in love?
What's the origin?
And nobody could ever understand it better than the horror itself that closed me in.
But she destroyed the bin,
With me in it and I was never ever sure again.
Like paper shredding under fluorescent tubes, my skin was thin.
Let demons in and they took shelter and then horrid soreness manifested within.
The eyes of the Lord looking down upon the men and women,
And all he could see was that my darkness had surfaced again.
I swore to Him I'd never resort to that sin,
But more than expected I was short of the win,
And lost myself with hopelessness,
My unfortunate friend.
Scorching torture forced me to pretend,
Over and over I retorted the fib with a grin;
Smiled as the lore spread like venom in skin.
The door to the end was open.
Therefore I went in,
And premonitions filled my core,
So I was forced to give in.
Over the course of a decade, the source of discourse caused me to see a red shade of anger.
For what felt like 4 million days I endured the rage,
Simple and plain I was psychotic, in danger,
ignoring the ways
To force myself to have a smile on my face.
It remains insane to me how the blade, when it penetrated,
Gave my skin goosebumps,
The doctor made me feel humiliated.
Sickness in my brain wants to put me in my grave,
OD was the second time I attempted the same.
But the fact of the matter is
The facts are a shame.
And the way that I felt this day,
Brought hope of finding a way,
To rid my head of the voices that haunt me,
Spewing disdain.
Third time's a charm I suppose,
Or at least that's what they say.
I guess after a while it did stop hurting.
A few months, then a year..
I’ve been trying to get a grip, but
It doesn’t mean I don’t need you here.

Anytime I listen to metal,
Or when I’m staring blankly across the room.
I get this pit inside my chest,
You left me much too soon.

No one is ever ready to lose someone,
Nothing will ever prepare you.
It doesn’t just get easier,
I’ve just become numb too.

When I say it “stopped hurting,”
I just mean that I’m empty.
I wish that I could’ve saved you,
I didn’t see the cries until you left me.

The day I heard, I fell into myself.
I was working and began to cry.
I had to leave the office that day,
I’m pretty sure you probably saw why.

Somedays I imagine you’re still here,
Joking with me about the old days.
I wish I could still talk to you,
Or push you in the hallway.

Missing you comes in waves,
Most days I am doing alright.
Other days not so much,
That’s why I’m crying here tonight.
Missing you Michael
Gerry Mora Dec 2018
Years before, he was just some happy kid
That used to smile, showing his precious white teeth
Sold his smile to the depression, precocious as it is
Now, here is where his depressive story begins

“I don’t wanna breathe…” That’s what he told me
The more he said it, the more I wished it were just a dream
Even though I knew it, I knew he was saying the truth
I just couldn’t believe him, that was being too crude

Numbness in a world full of black and white
No colors, no happiness in his sight
Don’t you see it? Don’t you see it in his dead eyes?
He figured out he could never feel alright

He was the one who wished to be erased
So he would’ve never been born to be a disgrace
For him dying maybe meant going to a better place
Guess what? He desired being victim of a coup de grace

(Feeling empty of happiness, at the same time full of hate
Even though he was alive, he thought of himself as dead weight
Even with a sunshine, all he saw and felt was rain
Everyone, and everything were being his life’s bane

Feeling empty of happiness, at the same time full of hate
Even though he was alive, he thought of himself as dead weight
Even with a sunshine, all he saw and felt was rain
Everyone, and everything were being his life’s bane)

As he wrote the letter, he started to cry
“Don’t you worry”, he said, “it’s only your life”
Ended his letter, he grabbed his knife
Cut himself in his arm, writing “Goodbye”

Prepared everything before night came by
He took the rope and hung it real tight
He stood on the chair and looked up at the moon
Thought about everything his mind had already consumed

As he did this he was going out of the path
Just blinded by this uncontrollable internal wrath
Crying he is now taking his last breath
But he knows shortly he will finally be dead

As he kicks the chair he knows, now there’s no escape
But in his mind he has escaped from this **** race
“Now I won’t worry about being a waste of space”
And as he thought that, he had a smile on his face

(Feeling empty of happiness, at the same time full of hate
Even though he was alive, he thought of himself as dead weight
Even with a sunshine, all he saw and felt was rain
Everyone, and everything were being his life’s bane

Feeling empty of happiness, at the same time full of hate
Even though he was alive, he thought of himself as dead weight
Even with a sunshine, all he saw and felt was rain
Everyone, and everything were being his life’s bane)

Some hours later we burst open the door
We saw something hanging, looking down to the floor
His hands, from his nails wouldn’t stop pouring blood
How can we forget about everything we just saw?

As I opened the letter I started reading it with care
“If you read this, most probably I’ll be already dead
Thank you for everything, thank you because you cared
Now there’s no reason to be sad… Farewell”
A suicidal teen writes a song to say goodbye, especially to you, his best friend.

Kevin Hayes Nov 2018
Long time coming
Long time gunning

Man dead on the ground
the soul still running

Flamed too ashes
Like a cigar filled with tree

Flamed too ashes
So there’s no more misery

Atleast that’s what he thinks
But to his surprise

He’s got grave problems
On the other side.
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