Sitting alone in the middle of a stormy night,
tears falling like raindrops from my storm cloud eyes.
In my hand, I clutch a crumpled piece of paper,
tatooed with the words that took me by surprise.
This is my burden ... this is my life. All that's left of you,
is an eternal emptiness that stabs like a knife.
Cut me up into little pieces, leave me alone to bleed.
Lock me up in a room of immortality, then throw away,
cast aside, the key.
Staring blankly at my lavender wall, daring to wonder
if you loved me at all. A blood red image of your slitted
wrists', swirls in my mind like blinding mists.
All the while my inhuman cry echoes throughout the
pouring rain as I tremble and writhe at the thought of your
pain.
Even though you had the world to live for, you ended up
bleeding and dead on the floor. What more could you have
wanted, what more did you need? Something this harsh world
refused to pay your suffering heed.
As I read your blood-stained last testament, a smile breaks
through my grim veil. Those last words you wrote,
gave my heart sails. And despite of myself, I give a thankful sigh.
For, I am still living ...
t'was not I who did die.
A simple poem that I personally wrote on 5-13-06 ... no specific reason behind it,
but I've always found that the idea and thought of suicide makes for a very good poem topic.
Mooshi Cat Community Member 
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