I write poetry , not suicide notes.
As it seems every poem means suicide

Why am I lying ?
My words are undying . I write poetry to stop myself from that idea.
You had no idea.
People feel uncomfortable
when the topic of conversation is death.

Although I'd just like to save my breath,
from your experiences with me.
It'll all go south and sour words will spill from your mouth.
I'm sad and you'll be angry , you can't make me happy.

People get sick of me, they punch and kick with their vocabulary
"Go swallow pills again"
I know they don't mean it , I'd never fear it
The Idea of leaving.
The idea of leaving.

By Arcassin Burnham

Noble steeds,
You said your prayers,
Pull the wool,
Times have changed,
You will never let your children turn to fools,
No matter what,
Give the seed,
Settled down,
No regrets,
Create a life,
You will be bound,
Hopefully, your Princes and princesses will make you proud,
Have a life,
So they could put their parents in a home,
You refused,
Now you're staying in your daughters guest room,
~ Present day, ~
Feeling isolated from the world you know,
History,
It don't make alot of since if you don't know,
Logically,
I could give **** if you recognize me,
Put my guard up for all my enemies that stay with me,
Just as long,
As the spirits give their kindness all to me,
In the mean time I will do whatever's best for me,
Take no pity from anyone in regards for sympathy,
Killing all of them with kindness carrying the empathy,
Third eye.

Even your hottest hell, won't burn
I won't be fooled by
your burnt sympathy
I won't be fooled by
your rotten love

-Kaya

The tales of a man once loved,
He who resorted to misstreating others.
Turned vial, turned dark.
He tore through hearts as if they were a craved meal.
Pulling and shredding souls with words so unforgivable to young minds.
Pushing them towards suicide he felt at ease.
A bully of minds with a cowardly heart.
They will remember him
They won't forgive him
Someday when he passes there will be no audience to his demise,
There will be no tolerance for he who is certain he is above all else.
He is a bully of the worst kind.
One who bullied a young girls mind.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros

The ocean is a tough judge,
granting no one a pardon
for the things they have done.
Sympathy is limited, and
floats on the surface of the waves.
Once you duck underneath,
you're on your own.

I take a glimpse,
at the future of the States,
Trump will destroy them.

I see Donald Trump,
Suddenly very proud to be
In my Canada.

Please excuse me for my days of doubt
On these days I have to write it out

Otherwise these feelings stay inside
Get down in my soul and hide

Then eat away all my will
In this these feelings are very skilled

The foster thoughts of death and release
They are definitely a cunning thief

But when I write on these days, it's not for sympathy
It's just to get out all the intensity

So what's it like to be you?
As I stand here in the rain
The only question in my head
That slices through the pain

The image in my head is of
A girl I know at school
Talked to her about my life today
She seemed pretty cool

Listened to her talk about her own life
And we were pretty similar
Her father is in the defence force too
And that was the common topic, in particular

How often our fathers were gone,
Might I intervene and say my dad retired
Twenty years or so in the Army
Of which he grew sick and tired

But she also mentioned sickness
And how some family had cancer
I felt sorry for her, she's much worse off
I didn't try to understand her

Instead I gave my sympathies
And my apologies

So what's it like to be you?
I think to myself in the rain
I know your story but don't understand
How you dealt with all the pain