People everywhere,
crowding you see.
pushing and shoving
all around me.
I honestly hate
these giant crowds.
Shouting and yelling.
Why is it so loud?
I'm pushed to the ground,
by accident of course.
I'm trampled and beaten
with no kind remorse.
I begin to cry.
Why might you say?
Because I have no one
on days like today.
So I might be different,
my mind set on low.
My parents think I'm stupid,
my friends think no hope.
So no one to help,
as I lay on the ground.
As loneness consumes me,
I do not make a sound.
Goodbye to friendship,
happiness, maybe love?
My thoughts drift to the future,
when I'm holding my gloves.
I don't want evidence,
of me holding the gun.
Those people don't need
to know they have won.
This horrendous battle
over life or death.
My life that is,
until my last breath.
So here I must end,
my finger on the trigger.
I am so sad to see
the crowd much bigger.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry. From the broken soul.
PoetryPoetry written over a time span of over ten years. This includes some of my darkest and lightest moments and the stories of others. Most deal with topics such as suicide, depression, family, eating disorders, religion, self harm, acceptance, recover...
