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Literature Text
There once was a girl who hated the world because of the pain within. On the outside she appeared just fine. But her sanity was wearing thin. Pain and hate and guilt were hidden deep inside her mind. But it grew and increasingly she broke down from time to time. No one knew of her burdens since she hid them very well. No one would've ever guessed that soon she'd say her last farewell. Her family expected too much from her and spoke in an indifferent and hypocritical way. She felt worthless and useless and stupid and ashamed. It was the same cycle every day. Her friends provided little comfort for they were all rather opinionated. Their disregard to her when she tried to speak out left her lonely and suffocated. The only person that she believed she loved was manipulative and played games with her head. His unpredictable schizophrenic nature often left her hanging by a thread. It's ironic that she was forced to comfort him for the idea of her leaving him filled him with dread. If he knew the impact of his later betrayal, he might not have been misled. She was breaking apart and falling down. From her heart the darkness spread. Bitterness clouded her judgment. Mentally she had already excessively bled. In the end, she snapped. As for the rest, I can't say. That day it was raining, cold, and gray. Her parents wept; her friends, they cried. Her younger sister kept asking, "Why did she die?" They didn't answer, couldn't reply. They didn't know the truth and couldn't bear to lie. They went on a search, a bit of a quest. And what they found shocked even those who knew her best. Now that she's gone, it was clear she was depressed. Truth be told, she was simply upset. But her pain ran much deeper than they ever believed. A soul as fragile as an autumn leaf. Ignorantly pretending that nothing was wrong, thinking she was only going through a phase. Unaware that behind the mask she put on, she was trapped in a crowded never-ending maze. This is the story of a selfish girl who shall remain unnamed. There is no winner of this story. Both sides are ultimately to blame. The next time you're dealing with others, think before you act or speak. You never know if the next person you accidently treat like crap will be driven over the edge. A delicate imbalance. Someone like me.
Literature
Suicide
When I woke up,
I expected you to be alive.
I expected the end of your letter
To say something like,
"I'm right behind you,
You moron!"
But that never happened.
When I woke up,
You were still dead.
You aren't dead to me.
You should be alive,
You should be here with me!
Where are you?
Why did you leave?
You didn't have to go!
I would've cared for you!
I would've rescued you!
There are still people who love you!
You didn't have to kill yourself!
You didn't have to die.
I can't believe you're dead.
I can't believe you're dead.
Literature
Suicide
You called me up,
crying,
down the phone,
you said you'd taken some pills,
and didn't want, to die alone.
Is your life,
that messed up,
you had to take steps,
to make it stop?
I cried to you,
to call 999,
you said you couldn't listen,
to voices other than mine.
your voice sounded weak,
fighting for breath,
the silence was noticeable
as if i was deaf.
The streets of heaven,
are already full tonight,
full of souls,
souls of angels,
souls like yours,
souls of people,
whose life ended too soon.
Your death,
has brought nothing but pain,
upon this world.
Literature
Depression
I'm tired of being here,
all locked up in my head.
Every day I hear a whisper,
and I'm closer to being dead.
Something taps me on the shoulder,
something I can't fight.
When it talks in that low voice,
my eyes are shut so tight.
Once it gets to a cetain point,
and I'm still sitting on the ground,
it tells me to do things,
I'm trying to ignore the sound.
Its voice is harsh and filled with confidence,
and I can hear a hint of sorrow.
Even when it's telling me,
I won't live to see tomorrow.
I don't know what to say,
and I don't know what to do.
I'm still hearing it now,
and I'm still suffering too.
I can't tell what its weak
Suggested Collections
EDIT:: 9/10/2012
If you're having problems and thinking about suicide and have no one to talk to, try calling one of these numbers.
Us: 1-800-273-8255
Uk and Ireland: +44 (0) 8457 90 90 90
Australia: 13 11 14
France: 01 45 39 40 00
Italy: 800 86 00 22
Germany: 0800 181 0771
Russia: 007 (8202) 577-577
Portugal: (+351) 225 50 60 70
seriously, talk to someone. All you need is someone who'll truly listen to you without judging.
I haven't been on dA at all in the past few months because of my issues in life, so I may not get to any of the comments here anytime soon, so please try talking to someone, anyone.
EDIT:: May 3, 2012
if anyone makes it to these comments, if you need anyone to talk to, message me. I may not give the best advice, but I will listen. I'm not perfect, but I try not to judge.
EDIT:: 11/15/2011
How does this poem get around, seriously? You would think that it would be buried under the many other suicide related deviations out there.
I have a folder here that has a bunch of other poems kinda like this one. ...If you're interested. If reading poetry that you can relate to makes you feel a little better. It's all old, but this poem is also really old, so... yeah.
EDIT 1/25/2010:
wait, it's been 4 years since I posted this?! I FEEL OLD |: Anyway, this is my most popular deviation apparently, so I wanted to say something. lol does anyone ever read these comments anyway?
Like this poem? Can you relate? I want to hear about what you think. I'm no therapist, I'm an incredibly shy person, but I like to hear about people's experiences. I want to know what you've gone through. Those things in the above poem? Obviously, crap I've gone through. It isn't anything spectacular, maybe not even that bad compared to things some of you might have been through, which is why I'd just like to know.
Course, if you don't want to, that's totally alright. I'm chill with that. But I know that most of you want someone to notice your pain. So I just want to extend a hand to anyone who's willing to reach out to mine.
and for anyone wondering, the name out the bottom of the comment box is the name I originally used for the girl in the poem. It rhymes with my name... no... wait. No it doesn't, I think I've been pronouncing it wrong this whole time!
... 
.... 
*ahem* I also have plenty of angsty and not so angsty poems in my gallery *shameless plug* I get insecure when this is the only thing in my freaking gallery that gets favorited, not that it really matters orz
/end long edited comment rambles/
~~~
Warning...it's about suicide, so I suppose it's mature? >_>
wow...I don't think most of my poems are this depressing.
I actually wrote this in 8th grade...and I ended it on a sort of attempt at a positive note, but not really, if you don't know what I mean. and I rewrote the ending about 2 years ago, but it still was kind of weird. So I rewrote most of it bout 2 months ago, and hardly any of the original is left, but it's generally the same...but yeah.
I'm not suicidal. I was just depressed when I wrote it the first time as with most...things. >_>
but yes...I digress.
Madeline
If you're having problems and thinking about suicide and have no one to talk to, try calling one of these numbers.
Us: 1-800-273-8255
Uk and Ireland: +44 (0) 8457 90 90 90
Australia: 13 11 14
France: 01 45 39 40 00
Italy: 800 86 00 22
Germany: 0800 181 0771
Russia: 007 (8202) 577-577
Portugal: (+351) 225 50 60 70
seriously, talk to someone. All you need is someone who'll truly listen to you without judging.
I haven't been on dA at all in the past few months because of my issues in life, so I may not get to any of the comments here anytime soon, so please try talking to someone, anyone.
EDIT:: May 3, 2012
if anyone makes it to these comments, if you need anyone to talk to, message me. I may not give the best advice, but I will listen. I'm not perfect, but I try not to judge.
EDIT:: 11/15/2011
How does this poem get around, seriously? You would think that it would be buried under the many other suicide related deviations out there.
I have a folder here that has a bunch of other poems kinda like this one. ...If you're interested. If reading poetry that you can relate to makes you feel a little better. It's all old, but this poem is also really old, so... yeah.
EDIT 1/25/2010:
wait, it's been 4 years since I posted this?! I FEEL OLD |: Anyway, this is my most popular deviation apparently, so I wanted to say something. lol does anyone ever read these comments anyway?
Like this poem? Can you relate? I want to hear about what you think. I'm no therapist, I'm an incredibly shy person, but I like to hear about people's experiences. I want to know what you've gone through. Those things in the above poem? Obviously, crap I've gone through. It isn't anything spectacular, maybe not even that bad compared to things some of you might have been through, which is why I'd just like to know.
Course, if you don't want to, that's totally alright. I'm chill with that. But I know that most of you want someone to notice your pain. So I just want to extend a hand to anyone who's willing to reach out to mine.
and for anyone wondering, the name out the bottom of the comment box is the name I originally used for the girl in the poem. It rhymes with my name... no... wait. No it doesn't, I think I've been pronouncing it wrong this whole time!
... .... *ahem* I also have plenty of angsty and not so angsty poems in my gallery *shameless plug* I get insecure when this is the only thing in my freaking gallery that gets favorited, not that it really matters orz
/end long edited comment rambles/
~~~
Warning...it's about suicide, so I suppose it's mature? >_>
wow...I don't think most of my poems are this depressing.
I actually wrote this in 8th grade...and I ended it on a sort of attempt at a positive note, but not really, if you don't know what I mean. and I rewrote the ending about 2 years ago, but it still was kind of weird. So I rewrote most of it bout 2 months ago, and hardly any of the original is left, but it's generally the same...but yeah.
I'm not suicidal. I was just depressed when I wrote it the first time as with most...things. >_>
but yes...I digress.
Madeline
© 2006 - 2024 lexical-phobia
Comments203
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A very important story to tell is that one time, I was holding a knife, and I wanted to kill myself so bad, and I called the US national suicide prevention line, and they didn't pick up! Thankfully after the 2nd call, and after the knife was looking increasingly inviting, my mother walked into my room, thus I am still here. What I have learned is that sometimes, it helps to contact your loved ones if the trained professionals do not respond in a way that is necessary.