deepundergroundpoetry.com
suicide
I'm unclear about the idea.
Maybe.
I have grown to be fond of it
No one knows or can see it.
Maybe I'm good at hiding it
I have no reason to live
I'm basically dead anyways,
The voice I live for I no longer can reach for.
His image has been dismissed from my life.
I'm left With the memories
There are few left to keep me sane.
The letters I write to remind him of me
There not enough and it's hard to write
Every time.
I don't even know if she reads them for him.
I have nothing to live for, I'm almost dead anyways.
I think I'd be much happier.
The pain us the only thing keeping me alive.
I'm contemplating suicide.
Maybe.
I have grown to be fond of it
No one knows or can see it.
Maybe I'm good at hiding it
I have no reason to live
I'm basically dead anyways,
The voice I live for I no longer can reach for.
His image has been dismissed from my life.
I'm left With the memories
There are few left to keep me sane.
The letters I write to remind him of me
There not enough and it's hard to write
Every time.
I don't even know if she reads them for him.
I have nothing to live for, I'm almost dead anyways.
I think I'd be much happier.
The pain us the only thing keeping me alive.
I'm contemplating suicide.
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