Another teenager death poem
I have but one name, and it is Dawn.
I am surrounded by sin, I can't get away
I try suicide almost every day.
I'm shrouded in darkness, it is my veil
Everyone wonders why I am so pale.
Five years ago I stole my dad's gun
But without any bullets, what could I have done?
Three years ago I found cutting, the key
I could not believe how it relaxed me.
I tried so hard to keep it hidden
For I knew it was forbidden.
But just last month they found a scar
They found a hundred and sixty, that is so far.
But there's many more they'll never find
You see the rest are in my mind.
Singled out for being myself
Putting my feelings on a high shelf.
Being dated just out of pity
Putting up with my rival named Kitty.
All the things that the teachers claim
No matter what I am the blame.
They can't see the pain within
As the razor cuts my skin.
I cannot take this anymore
They found me this morning, dead on the floor.
"What's going on here!" was the teacher's demand
They found the straight razor still clinched in my hand.
Blood is running from my wrists
This story will end with many twists.
They all said I was a fool
I died there in the halls at school.
Poetry by Kristina
Read 465 times
Written on 2007-02-23 at 06:20
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A Pressured Life
I am a teenager, Satan's pawnI have but one name, and it is Dawn.
I am surrounded by sin, I can't get away
I try suicide almost every day.
I'm shrouded in darkness, it is my veil
Everyone wonders why I am so pale.
Five years ago I stole my dad's gun
But without any bullets, what could I have done?
Three years ago I found cutting, the key
I could not believe how it relaxed me.
I tried so hard to keep it hidden
For I knew it was forbidden.
But just last month they found a scar
They found a hundred and sixty, that is so far.
But there's many more they'll never find
You see the rest are in my mind.
Singled out for being myself
Putting my feelings on a high shelf.
Being dated just out of pity
Putting up with my rival named Kitty.
All the things that the teachers claim
No matter what I am the blame.
They can't see the pain within
As the razor cuts my skin.
I cannot take this anymore
They found me this morning, dead on the floor.
"What's going on here!" was the teacher's demand
They found the straight razor still clinched in my hand.
Blood is running from my wrists
This story will end with many twists.
They all said I was a fool
I died there in the halls at school.
Poetry by Kristina
Read 465 times
Written on 2007-02-23 at 06:20
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
