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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Suicide
I can hear the music of the spheres playing.
This symphony was always dear to me.
I have no thoughts of a revolution.
Preoccupied with my own destination.
Hell!
What a place to lay my head.
Rage!
What's my sin, is it what I intended?
Now I fall to my knees in this prison world.
Underneath a red sky, clouds begin to whirl.
I can feel the sand biting into my skin.
As I turn to wood and my punishment begins.
Say farewell to the music and the magic I once knew.
I took it away from myself as my despair grew.
I pray for the fire.
I pray for the blood.
Drown me, burn me.
I know I am no good.
Suicide.
What have I done?
No more light.
The devil won.
Circling above me as my eyes petrify.
The blasting sun draws them in as I die.
The bloody sand drinks its fill out of me.
The harpies peck and rip, a thousand agonies.
The blade always look so sharp and clean.
And now eternal wretchedness, no dream.
Suicide.
What have I done?
No more light.
The devil won.
Suicide.
My life is done.
What a horror have I cause for myself.
What a horror, what a hell.
I pray for the fire.
I pray for the blood.
Drown me, burn me.
I know I am no good.
Suicide.
What have I done?
No more light.
The devil won.
Suicide.
Suicide.
What have I done?
No more light.
The devil won.
Suicide.
Suicide.
My life is done.
This symphony was always dear to me.
I have no thoughts of a revolution.
Preoccupied with my own destination.
Hell!
What a place to lay my head.
Rage!
What's my sin, is it what I intended?
Now I fall to my knees in this prison world.
Underneath a red sky, clouds begin to whirl.
I can feel the sand biting into my skin.
As I turn to wood and my punishment begins.
Say farewell to the music and the magic I once knew.
I took it away from myself as my despair grew.
I pray for the fire.
I pray for the blood.
Drown me, burn me.
I know I am no good.
Suicide.
What have I done?
No more light.
The devil won.
Circling above me as my eyes petrify.
The blasting sun draws them in as I die.
The bloody sand drinks its fill out of me.
The harpies peck and rip, a thousand agonies.
The blade always look so sharp and clean.
And now eternal wretchedness, no dream.
Suicide.
What have I done?
No more light.
The devil won.
Suicide.
My life is done.
What a horror have I cause for myself.
What a horror, what a hell.
I pray for the fire.
I pray for the blood.
Drown me, burn me.
I know I am no good.
Suicide.
What have I done?
No more light.
The devil won.
Suicide.
Suicide.
What have I done?
No more light.
The devil won.
Suicide.
Suicide.
My life is done.
Published 9th Dec 2018
Author's Note
Suicides and those violent against themselves are transformed into trees and pecked apart by harpies.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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