As the darkness falls all around you, and your tears run black as the night,
You have run out of shoulders to cry on, you know it’s the night you’ll say goodbye.
The bruises have never been so painful; the cuts have never been so deep.
Lay your head down in relief, and bleed into the deepest sleep.
Room once filled with hopes and dreams, all to long ago it seems, now
Bloody sheets of misery, razor blades and memories. Broken glass on the floor a tissue box that helps no more.
A broken heart that burns with pain, drowning in mascara rain.
Deafened by her own silent screams, a precious life atrophy
A river black from eyes to cheek, she’s nothing left, a heart so weak.
Wounds reopened, Crimson Red, pages unturned and words unsaid.
An excruciating ecstasy, yet a picture perfect catastrophe.
Blood fingerprints on the life she tore, her life that was, but is no more.
Showing posts with label Suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Suicide. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Race Against Time...
She climbs the stairs to the third floor, opens the door to her apartment, Number 34B.
It’s a small apartment, with a small living room barely lit with a single light globe hanging from the ceiling that flickers every few seconds. There is a faded pink couch in the middle of the room, sitting on a shaggy, whiskey stained rug. MTV statically enlightens a small coffee table, with three legs and covered with years of rolling stone magazine and half empty coffee mugs.
She drops her fake Gucci handbag on the couch as she walks past, like she does every other the day; Making her way into the lone bedroom in her apartment. The bedroom is darker than the living room with singe bed, covered in a cigarette burnt sheet, and makeup stained pillow and a woven woolen blanket. The bedside table sits under a busted reading lamp and a overflowing ashtray. Her clothes spread all over the floor from the weeks that have past, with no obvious order. Kicking off her smoky grey heels as she passes through the door, sliding down her little black dress to the floor, revealing her gorgeous pale white silky skin, her back covered in a diorama of black tattoos that resemble the memories of pain and suffering she has felt over time. A tattoo of stitching leads from her shoulders, down across her heart, past her small, but perfect breasts and perky pink nipples. Her thin, slender cold body and disappears into her red lace g-string. She reaches her freezing cold hands with black chipped, but shiny fingernails to open the door to her bathroom, which is small than most closets in any house. She stares at herself in the mirror, exposing dark fiery red lips, spiky piercing below her bottom lip to the left of centre. She reaches up to let her hair down; long jet black straight hair covers her shoulders, her fringe falls down over her neon blue eyes, surrounded by a thick black layer of eyeliner that has been slightly smudged throughout the day. As she stares into her own eyes, she bursts into tears. Running a river of black down her face; it seems to have become a daily ritual for her. Night after night she comes home and cries herself to sleep. You can see the faded scars on both her wrists from when the days have just been to much for her to handle; Today was one of those days. She reaches into the drawer and removes a clean silver razor blade, of which she has a collection. She removes the last of her clothing and turns on her dirty shower. Before stepping in, she picks up the phones and dials a three digit number… “911, what is your emergency?” a voice says.
“I’ve cut my wrists” says the girl “I’m bleeding”
She drops the phone and steps into the shower… crashing into a ball in the corner as she makes the incisions in her wrists… as the blood begins to flow from her veins into the shower then down the drain… she leans her head against the wall… pondering whether fate will take her from this life, or if the paramedics will reach her in time. She has left it up to god to decided her fate… it’s a race against time.
It’s a small apartment, with a small living room barely lit with a single light globe hanging from the ceiling that flickers every few seconds. There is a faded pink couch in the middle of the room, sitting on a shaggy, whiskey stained rug. MTV statically enlightens a small coffee table, with three legs and covered with years of rolling stone magazine and half empty coffee mugs.
She drops her fake Gucci handbag on the couch as she walks past, like she does every other the day; Making her way into the lone bedroom in her apartment. The bedroom is darker than the living room with singe bed, covered in a cigarette burnt sheet, and makeup stained pillow and a woven woolen blanket. The bedside table sits under a busted reading lamp and a overflowing ashtray. Her clothes spread all over the floor from the weeks that have past, with no obvious order. Kicking off her smoky grey heels as she passes through the door, sliding down her little black dress to the floor, revealing her gorgeous pale white silky skin, her back covered in a diorama of black tattoos that resemble the memories of pain and suffering she has felt over time. A tattoo of stitching leads from her shoulders, down across her heart, past her small, but perfect breasts and perky pink nipples. Her thin, slender cold body and disappears into her red lace g-string. She reaches her freezing cold hands with black chipped, but shiny fingernails to open the door to her bathroom, which is small than most closets in any house. She stares at herself in the mirror, exposing dark fiery red lips, spiky piercing below her bottom lip to the left of centre. She reaches up to let her hair down; long jet black straight hair covers her shoulders, her fringe falls down over her neon blue eyes, surrounded by a thick black layer of eyeliner that has been slightly smudged throughout the day. As she stares into her own eyes, she bursts into tears. Running a river of black down her face; it seems to have become a daily ritual for her. Night after night she comes home and cries herself to sleep. You can see the faded scars on both her wrists from when the days have just been to much for her to handle; Today was one of those days. She reaches into the drawer and removes a clean silver razor blade, of which she has a collection. She removes the last of her clothing and turns on her dirty shower. Before stepping in, she picks up the phones and dials a three digit number… “911, what is your emergency?” a voice says.
“I’ve cut my wrists” says the girl “I’m bleeding”
She drops the phone and steps into the shower… crashing into a ball in the corner as she makes the incisions in her wrists… as the blood begins to flow from her veins into the shower then down the drain… she leans her head against the wall… pondering whether fate will take her from this life, or if the paramedics will reach her in time. She has left it up to god to decided her fate… it’s a race against time.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Suicidal Thinking...
What doesn't exist can't hurt you,
What can't hurt you doesn't exist.
Agony is the feeling of being alive.
This is why pain can never hurt the dead,
I've never been one to consider suicide an option,
but I can see the appeal it must have to some.
Seems like an easy way out, which it is.
Though I would never question the motives of those who take that path,
I must wonder what could have been so unbearable that they decided to end it all.
End the pain and suffering.
It might be something that is a simple, little insignificant problem.
These Little Problems might be the threshold for another.
An issue that forces them to make the toughest decision of their life,
or the end of their life for that matter.
Must be an immense amount of pain to make that call to end it all....
What can't hurt you doesn't exist.
Agony is the feeling of being alive.
This is why pain can never hurt the dead,
I've never been one to consider suicide an option,
but I can see the appeal it must have to some.
Seems like an easy way out, which it is.
Though I would never question the motives of those who take that path,
I must wonder what could have been so unbearable that they decided to end it all.
End the pain and suffering.
It might be something that is a simple, little insignificant problem.
These Little Problems might be the threshold for another.
An issue that forces them to make the toughest decision of their life,
or the end of their life for that matter.
Must be an immense amount of pain to make that call to end it all....
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The End
She’s tried before, and failed. The story of her life it seems. Trying to escape the harsh reality that is her world. Drink after drink, Pill after pill… Trying desperately to extinguish the agony that penetrates her heart deeper than any ocean. Pointless sexual encounters that only end in a river of black tears and a mascara stained pillow. Scars on her wrist symbolise her previous efforts. She’s been so close to a bloody relief before; but tonight marks the end of her tragic life. With a locked door and loud music, no one will hear her scream, just as no one has heard her screams for salvation before. However, tonight will not be a cry for help, just a scream of sweet surrender. To her this pain and anguish is far less than what she faces day to day.
As her blood runs down her pale arm, through her weary fingers, mixing with her sea of salty tears, she is content…satisfied.
In her final heartbeats there is a smile… her pain she lived her life with is gone forever in her death. Burned and buried as if it had never existed.
As her blood runs down her pale arm, through her weary fingers, mixing with her sea of salty tears, she is content…satisfied.
In her final heartbeats there is a smile… her pain she lived her life with is gone forever in her death. Burned and buried as if it had never existed.
A Life No More
As the darkness falls all around you, and your tears run black as the night,
Throw your head on my shoulder, tonight’s not the time we say goodbye.
The bruises have never been so painful; the cuts have never been so deep.
Lay your head down in relief, and bleed into the deepest sleep.
Room once filled with hopes and dreams, all to long ago it seems, now
Bloody sheets of misery, razor blades and memories. Broken glass on the floor a tissue box that helps no more.
A broken heart that burns with pain, drowning in mascara rain.
Deafened by her own silent screams, a precious life atrophy
A river black from eyes to cheek, she’s nothing left, a heart so weak.
Wounds reopened, Crimson Red, pages unturned and words unsaid.
An excruciating ecstasy, yet a picture perfect catastrophe.
Blood fingerprints on the life she tore, her life that was, but is no more.
Written by Daniel Telford-O'Donnell, 2008.
Throw your head on my shoulder, tonight’s not the time we say goodbye.
The bruises have never been so painful; the cuts have never been so deep.
Lay your head down in relief, and bleed into the deepest sleep.
Room once filled with hopes and dreams, all to long ago it seems, now
Bloody sheets of misery, razor blades and memories. Broken glass on the floor a tissue box that helps no more.
A broken heart that burns with pain, drowning in mascara rain.
Deafened by her own silent screams, a precious life atrophy
A river black from eyes to cheek, she’s nothing left, a heart so weak.
Wounds reopened, Crimson Red, pages unturned and words unsaid.
An excruciating ecstasy, yet a picture perfect catastrophe.
Blood fingerprints on the life she tore, her life that was, but is no more.
Written by Daniel Telford-O'Donnell, 2008.
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