My Own Private Suicide.

I wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago...feeling pretty down and all. I just needed to get it all out.
I wrote it after I tried to do stupid things to end the depression.
The very last line is by Billie Joe, from Homecoming.

Salty drops leave less than dry lines on my face,
Jumping of the edge, absorbing the black canvas bag,
I stuff my belonging into it, heaving it onto my back.

I trudge downstairs with teenage feet and a passion for hate,
Mother yelling out the odds, my fave burns as she choses my fate,
The journey ahead will make me ache with emotion.

The city welcomes the lonley livliness of the souls that pass to it,
murkey waters lap harshly upon the sides of the pier walls,
The cold metal bars restricting my invasion to the sea.

My life, is a wreck, heavy weight upon the sarcastic lives of others,
Bitter air stinging the back of my throat,
The wind smudging the black pain under my eyes.

Observing people pretending not to notice my foot stumble to the next bar,
The white bands can be seen in the darkness against the dark glow of the city,
Like climbing a ladder, I edge upwards, knowing my destination is downwards.

It's my own private suicide.
Posted on January 16th, 2007 at 07:19am


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