I slit my wrist one last time. I didn't intend for my days to end. i needed to get a message to family and my friends. How much my life stunk like a fart out of thy rear end. Pain and tears, fears and tribulation. On my knees, bleeding tears from my eyes, desperate to get out of this painful situation.All alone in my shadow of doom. I open a fucking window and the sky looks gloom. I got that fucking razor blade that I got from that cheap tesco shaver. It was damn sharp, even if it was slightly cheaper. I sponged my wrist with water. Locked the room of my quarter. Turned on a lamp and closed my eyes. I could feel the pain through every slice. As I came to the final slash, I went beyond my muscle and into my vein. I opened my eyes again and saw the blood fall to the floor. My life ended here, I was no more! I speak to you from a note I wrote before I departed, describing how my life was so broken hearted. I could have made it but nobody gave me that chance. I spoke volumes but nobody looked up and glanced. I was the invisible man. Nobody quite understands, they walk through me as though I were invincible. They treated me like I felt no pain. Spat at and had the words of hatred thrown toward me. I begged them to have mercy. But their eyes narrowed like that of the devil. They kicked and punched me till my body went purple. After a while, I could not feel the pain. i was so used to it, I prayed it would happen again. Time after time I saw pictures of war and ultra violence. Got nowhere cause my anguish was kept silent. I didn't trust anybody, didn't have anyone I could let out my tears. Through the years, the world became a colder and more threatening place that I started to fear. Too late now because I am dead. Let it rest on your conscience, let it on your head. The woes of man, you are ignorant to see. In my shoes, you could never be. No matter how hard you tried, you could never have been able to describe. For I do not hate you, for I pity you. My heart has no hatred, only love. As the shadows surrounded me when I were a child. You went crazy, fucked my mind up so many times. Hit me, lash out when you were drunk. I couldn't believe you were my father. But then i realised who you really were. You were Lucifer! That mother, i craved her love. Taken away from me because she had a heart of stone. Afraid of my own parents, afraid to come home. Home, it wasn't home it was fucking hell. I bidded you farewell. Sat at the table watching tv you were. Womens hour on GMTV, oh don't wave back to me. Oh and the father was down the pub getting drunk again. Put it in my mental diary to prepare myself for his wrath at half past twelve.
Uhh, I'm not so sure where it begins, but somewhere at the beginning, you started to ramble. To me, this is a far cry from a poem, more of someone talking and talking and some words rhyming out of convenience. However, I don't mind being the first to say it, but this really does have some potential. I think you should have put the issues you have with your parents closer to the beginning so that people can mourn with you and not just see it as a continued complaint. Poems that complain too much can be more unpleasant than suicide itself -tell why you hurt -and then tell how. Also, try to decide whether this is a poem or a story -you could get away with either -just take some time on it, be persistent. If it is any consolation, I believe in you!! Peace.
