Poetry Blogs (Suicide)

In a dusky morning, the sun was setting,
Wanted to scream in a silent mic.

No more of this frustration, no more of this hatred,
Death was the only freedom came to his mind.

Listening to the people, listening to himself he realised,
Many a things don't matter, So does his life.

Losing his hobby, his like, his ego, his pride.
Losing his humanity, was what it was like.

'Try to stay po...

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It has been two years today
Since I have had a fight with my then girlfriend
And, crying bitterly, I entered the living room
Replied to my father’s concerns
And let him know his daughter was dating a girl.
No wonder he hasn’t spoken to me since.

But, this poem isn’t about me
And nor is it about a cousin sister of mine
Whose phone was found in the living room
Full with smuts and gay storie...

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i know, i know

if i was to fall 

you'd cry 

(will you cry?)

at my funeral

but if that's 

what it takes

for you to think of me, then

I guess, well I guess

it's time for me to leave.

but no matter how hard,

how very hard I try

I can't leave, to leave

to leave is to die

and I can't do that

my momma would cry

I don't know anymore

D R O ...

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the pain stays, the pain always stays

that's the funny thing about grief, 

it is like taking the weight of the sorrows of the dead.

the sadness now trickled out of them and spread across their friends and families.

the pain doesn't end.

the pain is there when your friend gets the phone call,

as she drops her phone and screams, and rolls on the floor crying.

the pain conti...

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When sun comes against all odds

And the colours of life just pop

Or when the rain falls

It falls and falls

And you wet your lips

With piping hot tea

With warm biscuit

Savour the crumbs

Cosy and safe

In the arms of a jumper

The padding of the sofa,

Like a huge hug

Or when your face aches,

Your stomach vibrates

Because you are fighting to breathe

Through ...

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Twas the dawning of Father's Day, so said Facebook
Not a feeling was stirring, not even a fuck.
No flowers were planted by the headstone with care
Cos a mad pauper's grave can have no headstone there.

The children were restless, and not in their beds
Cos visions of suicide danced in their heads
Of white overalls and of tablets and shame
And sickness and pimping, a life quite insane.

The pe...

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