(Okay, before anybody panics, NO! I am not suicidal. NO! I do not have a death wish. NO! I am not going to kill myself. This is a poem my muse has been running through my mind for two weeks now, and the only way to get it out of where he has so inconveniently placed it, is to pen the dern thing. So, I did.)
Sad, pitiful, and morbid just warms the heart. Doesn't it?
Suicide
I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired
I think I'll kill myself
Would anyone even notice this toy
long placed upon the shelf
Perhaps I'll slit my wrist or use a butcher knife
Make the pain go away
A bullet sure and true would end my life
Why wait another day
Tomorrow's never promised it's a facade
With nothing to recall
Consumed by this desire I've no will to live
So, now I end it all
I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired
I think I'll kill myself
Would anyone even notice this toy
Long placed upon the shelf
@Copyrighted July 11, 2018 by Brett Matthew West
All Rights Reserved
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Author Notes
Lost Friend, by willie, selected to complement my poem
So, thanks willie, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my poem.
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