We romanticize suicide when we're too afraid to kill our enemies,
and perhaps it's easier to hang ourselves by a thread than lay a blade against their neck.
How much precision do we need to aim the gun to our own heads,
let alone the heads of the people who have driven us to question that?
We are ridden with guilt if we cover our fingertips in someone else's blood,
but we're numb when we murder ourselves in self hatred.
If we sit in a pitch black room and dream of suicide to the point of completion,
all we are led to is the same level of nothingness we saw in that room anyways.
Why should it be me that bleeds?
In this pitch of nothingness I yearn for anything other than black,
and I begin to realize that my self hatred isn't all that colorful.
I shut my eyes and listen as the door creaks,
I wipe away the dust from the door knob,
and I let myself see red.
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Author:
The Indignant Poetess (
Offline) - Published: March 2nd, 2025 00:23
- Comment from author about the poem: Taking my power back.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments2
Suicide is a most selfish act. It disregards the effect that it will have on others. Understandable that someone can be in enough pain to disregard others but selfish none the less. A good write.
A powerful write around the darkness of suicide and that we do think it is easier to punish ourselves than those responsible, but in the realizing it's not the right answer, well expressed
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