A Good Way To Die

I’ll never understand why people think death is bad,

When I die it’ll be the best day I’ve ever had.

Finally being able to end my melancholic life,

It excites me thinking of the end of the strife.

I know there are some who think it’s wrong,

But I think suicide is as nice as a bird’s song.

Being able to choose the way you die,

Is something everyone should get, girl or guy.

For doing so they say I’ll rot in hell,

But The Devil is someone I can easily quell.

After all the misery that she put me through,

So say what you want until your face turns blue.

I’m my own person and I can do as I please,

To kill myself is as easy as a breeze.

Death My Personal Life Poetry Supernatural

Tiresome Tears

In my youth I always cried easily,

I’d cry until I was puffy and wheezily.

I’d cry over toys to over my sister,

The tears in my eyes always seemed to glister.

So many tears I’ve cried in my youth,

No one ever thought it was worth to sleuth.

 

Now as I’m a newly-born adult,

My conscious reveals to me it’s occult.

With the help of my mother and her neglect,

I have now firgured out why I’m always a wreck.

Always alone and always put last,

All of these emotional flaws have amassed.

Now the littlest things can make me cry,

From a homeless man to not having pie.

 

The saddest part is that she doesn’t know,

All the mental anguish she always bestows.

She keeps on living happily and fully,

Not knowing that in my mind she’s a bully.

So I cry more everytime she denies me love,

Until a day when my blood covers my hand like a glove.

Emotional Graphic Loneliness My Personal Life Pain Poetry

Drip, Drip

Alone she kneels on the ice,

As liquid falls in groups of trice.

The piercing wind consumes her in it’s cold,

But it’s not the reason her emotions are so bold.

Echoes of a sound come from the icy hilltop,

Drip, drip, drop.

 

Clear and crimson circles in the snow appear,

The perfect blend of vivid and austere.

Her tears aren’t for the pain,

They are for the love she never gained.

She does this for the suffering to stop,

Drip, drip, slop.

 

A silvery blade in her hand,

Causes the blood to paint the snow that’s so bland.

Everyone tried to help her,

Except the one who could make her as she were.

Now her blood and emotions are in a glop,

Drip, drip, sob.

 

Her skin turns to the color of the snow,

And her sobbing begins to slow.

Her gray-blue eyes are hidden by her eyelids,

And her breathing is dull like her life is.

Her smile signifies her last yopp,

Drip, drip, plop.

 

 

Death Emotional Loneliness My Personal Life Poetry Twisted Meanings