I'm Sorry, Please Forgive Me.

Write a poem about someone committing suicide and their being some kind of complication. If you need an idea, Look at my poem titled 'My Past'.

There is no restriction on how many entries you can give.

 S.O.S.

It was a cold December morn and the night had such a storm
The children where late but she couldn’t wait
She was ready to find the entrance to hell’s gate
It didn’t matter they would only see the latter
Upon the entrance he would find a corpse
She opened the bottles one by one
Like it was some sort of game, how fun
The pills they prescribed, all opened wide
next to the bottle of Gin, oh ;where to begin
She poured them down chased with some Crown
She laid in bed hoping only to wake up dead
The children had not returned from her ex she burned
Hot upon that cold winter’s eve if only; she could believe
The storm quickly went as the night she spent
On the bed just inside the door, wanting life only more
The children came home missing her  so
Wanting to tell her of the weekend she didn’t know
The door was locked and the key jammed ; into it they slammed
As they heard the slurried words said, coming from that bed
Call an ambulance , get your Dad ,by the sink is what I had
Dad was not around and She lay on the floor by the bed
Still the key was jammed in the lock of that door
Shaking the calls were made and her life was saved
Was it fate or destiny she stood at the gates of hell
Only to escape covered in hospital tape
11 August 2011 ARHC
***

I have a keen interest in your second one more than your first @Devilman1966. It kept me on my toes a little more I must say

@Annabelle, Now, this one is amazing. I love the image that is created while reading it. (:

Trigger to the head
I thought I would be dead
but there's only some blood on the wall
and a little bit of brain-splash

it's not your fault, mom
it's not your fault, dad
I have shouldered this boulder alone
pushing it up the mountain
again and again
even Sisyphus would weep
if he were real

I smoke a cigarette
drink a whiskey drink
then smoke another

the slower form of suicide
seems to suit me best
it seems
to let the smoke linger
when the universe
succeeds
and the universe
always
seems to succeed.

Letter from the underworld

I look over your seizing body
Not yet submerged in cyanosis
Eyes bulged in tears and blood
Lips flaccid, two bloated earthworms
Trying unsuccessfully to mate into words

She was iced sunshine
Shot into your veins like heroin
You were addicted; clear crystal eyes
That kept moving, next man, next plan
She was the feel for a meal
And you couldn't feed her anymore
So she moved forward to your backward
And your flailing head is stuck
Inside this rotting rope

I do not grant you access
When your body stops seizing
Eyes stop rolling, lips stop quivering
Blood will circulate
All the way to your stubby fingers

I am sending you back
Not because you deserve to live
But because
You don't deserve death.

It's strenuous          
trying to force my way          
out of bed          
         
Dragging myself, feet first          
almost breaking bones          
to make the rest of me follow          
         
It's too tiring          
         
Exhaustion caused          
Not from a busy night's work          
         
or an evening spent drinking          
myself into a crippling stupor          
         
or from fucking          
till the crack of dawn          
         
but because of the weight that sneaks into my bed          
in the first light, not seconds after i open my eyes      
pinning me down till i am made to remember the things          
i had managed to forget during sleep          
         
The heaviness that takes a seat on my torso          
every damn morning just to make it hard for me          
to suck in enough of the air that would give me          
the energy to move          
         
It's too much          
         
I am considering the idea of a lengthier sleep          
because quite honestly      
I could do with a rest

I comb through my hair
with a newly bought brush
and when I'm done,
I count each strand it stole from me.

sifting through my favorite clothes
I tear the best to shreds
with scissors meant for bettering.

and finally
I place all my books, titles upside down
on the shelf, so
I had to turn my head
the other way.

it seemed that
forcing myself to lay off medication
brought out all the oddities.

better
fix
that.

taking the bottle saved from the months
of leading myself "astray"
I choked the first handful down
then swallowed the second easily.

with a heavy head and a hardened heart
expecting not but worse,
I spilled forth liquid from my gut
laced with scum and red.

maybe passing out
in my own discrepancies
is what saved my life.
though I'm pretty sure
it was just
puking out the pills
and avoiding anything sharp.

Here's How it Happened
-----------------------------
thread the rope around the shower rod
falls to the floor
a lifeless body left with little life
just a dent on the cranium
tried the drugs, got the cap off the bottle
swallowed the whole damn thing
washed down with 4 dollar wine
sick stuff
bent over the toilet, threw it all up
pale-faced in the mirror
I cut down-stream
the right way, I hear
and wanna know how I know I'm ghost, for sure?

no blood

Unsaved

Unsaved 

I Sliced my wrists today
The right way 
It Helped Erase all memories for a awhile
 taking my last breath 
 Flashbacks of cruelty came successfully back
Feeling the touch of the un wanted 
All over my body 
Screaming for help and no one ever, ever heard
But you're here now 
I shouldn't be surprised 
You killed my mind when I was only nine
Now daddy saves his little girl
From what? 
I wanted death 
To be rescued by the man that created all this mess
Daddy could take me now
I wouldn't put up a fight 
Why?? 
I'm bleeding out my arms 
He should  love the thought Of me in pain
Why can't he let me die 
His hot tears on my skin 
Burn me to my soul 
This mother fucker never cared 
He wants to make me feel more guilty for given in, yet again
To just pure sin after sin
I beat death  today
Daddy saved me 
His little girl can't go to a better hell just yet. 
No not yet.. 

"I Couldn't make it"

(Kinda didn't read the FAIL part of the suicide sorry.)

Yea, let the needle rip the flesh
One last ultimate high before it takes my last breath
Sitting under the shade of a evergreen tree
As the shade closes in on me feeling like I cant see
Paralyzed by the greatness of this mixture
Heroin mixed with adrenaline and liquor
Shadows under me starting turning into figures
Injection holes left in every tip of my fingers
And let the blood drip red
Strawberry Blonde telling me to rip the cap off its head
Take another sip
My eyes don't tell the pain but my minds a guilt trip
Wallet has no pictures only thing left is tablets
Who would of thought I paid for my own death
Eyes are getting dark, hard to breathe and my body's feeling grotesque
I'm just a gross mess  emotions are so distressed
And if I do how much would I feel like I'm selfish
I wish I would of kept a pencil and a piece of paper
My soul evaporating like water cycles in mother nature
How I wished this hurt would end
And let me leave this world that I'm in
Its cruel how you could get ditched by your friend
Prior to 20 Shots in my system I lean to him and tell him
to not let this get the best of me
what a recipe
Probably something the devil keeps
Its disaster
Can't learn from this mistake because I'm hammered
To this tree
Eyes begin to sweep
Left to right
Thinking I was destroyed by the love to liquify
Problem techniques
Slowly killing me
Hope I make it home the next day
Just sleep off this gory haze
But my hearts beating so fast I feel like its going to explode like hand grenades
Try to smoke a cigarette but it seems I can't light the flame
Eyes drift off into my head feeling my eyeballs hang
Never did I dream again
But only in the darkness will I learn to revive my life
And try to make everything right within a acid mind
I attracted time
To get the best of me....

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          < Me and Lee >
   
    Lee Harvey Oswald didn't act alone.
    Princess Diana was killed on purpose.
    Elvis never left the building.
    Shakespeare didn't write those plays.
    Reptilian humanoids control us all.
   
    I
    (meanwhile)
    have bought the wrong ammunition.
   
    Who?
    (I asked my neighbor)
    Could possibly know the difference?
   
    "You're an idiot for tryin' to use your grandmother's gun."
    (He said.)
    "But look, I have some old ammo that'll fit;
     I'll drop it by tomorrow."

           - - -