I’m so close to killing somebody—
might be myself,
or myself and somebody else.
’Cause a murder-suicide
feels like a smoother ride
than continuing to hide
these demons taking my mind.
I’m going psycho—
no typo.
You read it right.
A love poet
in the fight of his life.
Financial freedom stripped away,
fatherhood ripped away—
government checks the only thing
I barely manage to pay.
Who knew good intentions
could rot this bad?
It’s sad—
how fast hurt turns into mad.
Now all I see is red,
trying to play a hand
I was never meant to be dealt.
Every wrong move
cuts deeper
than anything I’ve ever felt.
I’m lost.
Long nights, empty roads,
Lady Death riding passenger.
We barely speak—
I don’t know what to ask of her.
So silence creeps in,
while suicidal thoughts
eat away at my liver.
But I know I’m no killer—
so I keep moving,
letting broken glass
from emptied bottles
guide me.
-
Author:
Bragee (
Offline) - Published: April 4th, 2026 08:43
- Comment from author about the poem: Keep fighting
- Category: Sad
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments3
Damn this is concerning poem but I’m glad it was resolved in the end… keep writing
We all need some pure milk, to wash down the lies, and blow them out with the draft.
This poem speaks of hard times and harsh penalties paid that leave one desperate and on the edge. Well written it seems like a call for support.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.