Poetry, Random Thoughts, Writings

Too late

(A poem on suicide)

Red, puffy eyes
Broken wings
Shattered dreams
No one cares.

Conformity
Sucked up life
A living dead
No one cares.

Suffering heart
Depression strikes
Exhausted soul
No one cares.

Getaway plot
Expressed desire
Reluctant decision
Still, no one cares.

A slit in the wrist
An overthrown chair
Or a high-rise escape
It doesn’t matter, no one cares.

Following day
A grey afternoon
Everyone cares
The dead doesn’t.

2 Comments

  • Reply

    scribbla

    August 12, 2011

    Powerful writing. Unfortunately way too relevant.

    • Reply

      pinkwoods

      August 12, 2011

      Well…yes. It’s just something that came to me like a repeating lyrics on my mind. And I was like, why not write it? So there.

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