Suicide, She Wrote.

Though she's taken most of the hurt;
Although she's been broken to the bone.
She can't take life anymore;
She can't take being alone.

Suicide, she wrote.
Suicide, she wrote.

With her wrists placed on the mirror,
As her blood begins to stain her clothes.
Death, she began contemplating.
And suicide, she wrote.

With the pills arranged by dosage,
And the razors lined by size,
With alcohol bottles opened,
And the noose is readily tied.

Suicide, she wrote.
Suicide, she wrote.

Crushing dreams, and dying hearts,
Nothing is amiss.
The suicide line is arranged in front of her.
Suicide is her bliss.

Suicide, she wrote.
Suicide, she wrote.

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Christina Marie Hurley
Copyright©2007

Not feeling this way.
I'm trying something new?
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