Post by behindTHEmask on Jan 7, 2005 19:25:16 GMT -8
Story of Another Suicide
God couldn't have even stopped.
[/size][/i][/center]God couldn't have even stopped.
Forget me not,
Among the suicidal screams,
Floating down the river,
We’ve associated with the essence of death.
The pain provoked through trickles of blood,
From the bodies surging along,
The pitch-black sea,
Better known to us,
As sorrow.
You fought for me once,
Wanting to hear me whisper,
Sweet I love you’s,
Through your ears,
You’ve cut off from the world.
The hope of surviving through this tragedy,
Has been entwined into mendacities,
Weaving together the rope,
I’ve enfolded around my neck.
The veins are pulsating—
Struggling to pump the blood through my system.
The oxygen is being severed from the body,
And I slowly listen to myself die.
The short breathes—<br>The struggle is over,
All of my actions have become involuntary.
Your eyes are soaked in skepticism,
As they observe my body suspend,
Over the black hearts,
Of a million dying teens.
This suicidal path has been woven into a trend,
Among those believed to be forgotten—unloved.
Nothing is worth their stares,
And the longing for a significant,
Has turned to be their murder.
You always kept me breathing,
In the depths of the night,
Where the world fell asleep,
To the sound of my screaming,
I used for comfort.
Maybe I should have walked away,
With my world bloodstained and forgotten,
Because even with people encasing my surroundings;
Breathing down my neck,
I never felt so alone.
With you by my side,
I felt isolated from the world—<br>The criticism,
The hatred,
The love.
My life was decreased to the size of a balloon,
You blew up,
Because you insisted I hadn’t the breath.
The bodies floating under me are my followers.
This suicidal story of a girl has been told cumulatively.
Again and again,
Over the same old sad song.
It’s been this way for ages.
It will stay this way forever.
Among the suicidal screams,
Floating down the river,
We’ve associated with the essence of death.
The pain provoked through trickles of blood,
From the bodies surging along,
The pitch-black sea,
Better known to us,
As sorrow.
You fought for me once,
Wanting to hear me whisper,
Sweet I love you’s,
Through your ears,
You’ve cut off from the world.
The hope of surviving through this tragedy,
Has been entwined into mendacities,
Weaving together the rope,
I’ve enfolded around my neck.
The veins are pulsating—
Struggling to pump the blood through my system.
The oxygen is being severed from the body,
And I slowly listen to myself die.
The short breathes—<br>The struggle is over,
All of my actions have become involuntary.
Your eyes are soaked in skepticism,
As they observe my body suspend,
Over the black hearts,
Of a million dying teens.
This suicidal path has been woven into a trend,
Among those believed to be forgotten—unloved.
Nothing is worth their stares,
And the longing for a significant,
Has turned to be their murder.
You always kept me breathing,
In the depths of the night,
Where the world fell asleep,
To the sound of my screaming,
I used for comfort.
Maybe I should have walked away,
With my world bloodstained and forgotten,
Because even with people encasing my surroundings;
Breathing down my neck,
I never felt so alone.
With you by my side,
I felt isolated from the world—<br>The criticism,
The hatred,
The love.
My life was decreased to the size of a balloon,
You blew up,
Because you insisted I hadn’t the breath.
The bodies floating under me are my followers.
This suicidal story of a girl has been told cumulatively.
Again and again,
Over the same old sad song.
It’s been this way for ages.
It will stay this way forever.