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It's as easy as, 1, 2, 3.
Understandable as A, B, C.
Undesirable as, Don't Take Me.

A simple ditty,
So listen, Kiddie,
There's no singing in the grave.

No foot tapping, finger snapping,
Lip smacking music where you're going;
But don't be in a hurry to get going
To a place where you're a gonner.

You won't be chatting with a Brahma,
Discussing laws with ancient Moses,
There's no sitting Buddha posing,
You ain't in blissful Nirvana.

You'd be  in heaven in Havana.

There aren't virgins waiting;
No loaves and fishes baking;
No bells ringing,
No Mecca wailing,
No roads paved with gold.

I miss those stories I was sold.

Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...

Was it us who failed you?

Stay a while, don't leave yet,
You'll find nothing you expect,
But you won't remember,
And you won't forget.
What happens when I get the bottle open?
When I'm strong enough to let it go?

all the hopes and dreams I once had
escape
and I gain the knowledge to be free

What happens when I get the bottle open?

I stab the villain and not the innocent
finally slaying my demons
it's liberating
can't you see?

What happens when I get the bottle open?

I'll finally see the truth
maybe you will too
be happy for me
this is no set back

What happens when the bottle finally opens?

and all my dreams come true
I'm laying on the beach
listening
as the crashing waves
consume me
so nicely

What happens when the bottle's open?

and there's no going back
like Pandora's box of bottles
and all that's left is to
sink

What happens if the bottle's already open?

and I can't hide it anymore

I'm sorry
for wasting

Everything

but the bottle's been opened
and I can't waste this

not now

there is no strength to close it.
Gracie Anne Sep 2018
Do not tell me
Your best friend wouldn't be
Gasping for air as she
Hurls herself to the ground
In agony and grief.
Do not tell me
Your classmates wouldn't stare
At your empty seat
Holding back tears
Long after you're gone.
Do not tell me
Your teachers wouldn't give anything
To read one more paper
Or grade one more test
So long as they can have you back.
Do not tell me
Your brother wouldn't
Walk past your closed door and
Be yelled at one more time
For one more ****** problem.
Do not tell me that your father wouldn't wish
That he could hold his baby
Instead of watching them lower his princess
Into her final resting place.
And do not ******* tell me that your mother wouldn't sob
As she washed your last load of laundry
That you would ever *****,
Wishing she could smell her baby girl
One last time.

Do not tell me they wouldn't miss you

Because they would.
Teen suicide rates are soaring, and not much is being done about it. I'm publishing this in the hopes that one person will read it and GET HELP. You are not alone. I've been where you are. You can do it.
Francie Lynch Sep 2017
When she opened her  closet,
There was Jamie,
At the end of a rope.
All three twisted as the face,
With feet an inch from life.
A brown and yellow drip
Puddled the floor,
Touching the toe of a worn sock.
     If I can't live here, I'll die here.
Was pinned near the heart.
Stretching out her fingers,
Working fast for the unattainable,
Thinking speed and action
Could change the outcome
Of the hours old body,
Hanging,
Like a favorite suit
In need of dry-cleaning.
Gunner May 2017
Jack and Jill went up the hill
Tires, fast, pebbles flying into the night air, unaware of what's to come.
To fetch a pail of Water
Clear liquid, sizzling, burning as it rushes down the throat as if it were going out of style, hot as the poker that burns his insides and sears his thoughts.
Thoughts that buzzed around his brain and stuck like knives in flesh.
One Sip, Two Sip, Red Blood, Blue Veins. Just Pull the trigger.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
Sirens, one am,
MY SON MY SON MY SON MY SON JACK
And Jill came tumbling after.

Up Jack got, and home did trot
Blurry faces, a crowd, the cries, the silent sobs, the mourning, the miss you's, the goodbyes.
As fast as he could caper
Classmates. Too young. A loss. A tragedy. The boss up above was not enough to dissuade this young boy. Crossed the boarder, shooting range, gun in back, bottle in hand.
To old Dame Dob, who patched his ***
Wood. Dark wood, Red wood, Light wood, nails, *****, pound the hammer in BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. Fates sealed, game over.
With vinegar and brown paper
Paper. A picture in the year book. A face, a name, another dead body. Crossed the boarder, shooting range, gun in back, bottle in hand. One Sip, Two Sip, Red Blood, Blue Veins, Stabbing thoughts, falling, break his crown, go up the hill, sit under the tree. smash the bottle.
Just pull the trigger. Bang.

— The End —