Of a World That Hurts the MostMature

This poem kind of terrified me when I first wrote it, I think because it was my first foray into writing about such heavy stuff. It kind of sucks, but doesn't really scare me anymore. Regardless, it is about suicide, so please don't read it if it upsets you, because I don't want to make you so sad, as you're super cute and don't deserve to be sad, okay?

 The knife sits idly on the bathroom counter.

Concentrating won’t make it disappear.

Turn away,

let it go.

But you can’t.

 

Pick it up

slowly,

hesitantly.

Look around.

Is someone coming?

Will someone stop you?

 

No.

And that’s what hurts the most.

 

Knife to skin,

skin to knife

What does it matter,

when we’re all going to die regardless?

 

The pain!

It hurts!

Perfect lines cross your skin.

Leaving wet tracks of red.

Blood pours out.

Your blood.

Bright and shocking.

 

A gasp of pain.

Before bliss settles.

No worries.

No mental anguish.

Just a burning pain.

 

You know you shouldn’t have done it.

Why does the forbidden fruit,

always taste the sweetest?

 

Floating away,

less than air.

Losing the world.

Or is it the world that’s losing you?

 

Will someone save you?

 

No.

And even at the end,

that will always be what hurts the most.

The End

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