Any good suicide peoms u wrote?

Question

i dont want to steal them, ive been writing some and me and my friend have been getting really into reading them now.

ill admit i am considered a suicide risk, but lately ive been getting alot better. so please no rude comments.

Answer 1

Am I Alone?  ÃƒÂ¢Ã‚™Â¥

by Megan Hance

I get a funny feeling,

it comes from deep inside.

I get all mad and angry,

wanting to go and hide.

My doctor calls it depression,

my dad says it's just me.

But the thoughts and feelings,

no one will ever be able to see.

Some say I'm psycho,

some say I'm just weird.

It's like I'm a different person,

and the old me just disappeared.

I get really edgy,

I want to commit suicide real bad.

Then I get a headache,

followed by feeling sad.

I wish I could get help,

I wish it would go away.

Maybe if I keep praying real hard,

it will some day.

Answer 2

I had suicidal thoughts, but I never made an actual attempt. I hope you will never make any more attempts and I wish you happiness and long life.

"Surreal Confession"

Admit it

Got an inferiority complex

As big as Woody Allen’s repertoire

or Moby Dick’s head

If I’m invited to a party

I’ll sing my version of

Lesley Gore’s “It’s Not My Party

and I’ll cry if I want to

I’ll head for the food and drinks

and pray that my trembling hands

don’t wreck the décor

If I head for the wall,

as all wallflowers must

Because no one can possibly

want to speak with me

Because no one can possibly

like me

Because I am . . . .*

And as all good anti semites will tell you

the Jew is trembling –

he doesn’t fit in –

he’s inferior

the Jew with his Jewish nose

held high in the air –

he’s morally superior –

he doesn’t fit in –

When the confessional poets

start confessing and committing suicide

Oh Lord, I want to be in that number

Can I top that confession?

When I was young,

suicidal fantasies gave great pleasure

Like the great confessional poet courting death

Embracing and making love to death

*alternate version

Because I am the ultimate, ultra-outcast

like an unbearable Kafka smirk



But really I was in love with my suicide note

Now that’s writing to a captured audience

This note was my revenge

and I tirelessly worked, played, imagined

my revenge fantasy gave great pleasure

the great sado masochistic thrill of suffering together

Bound together eternally in suffering – finally famous –

finally an accomplishment, achievement,

the goal to end all goals

So glorious death –

savoring the taste, the bond, the belief, the relief –

I’m free finally, but I have enslaved you –

Finally unforgettable,

Finally part of the landscape

Finally part of your life

If I just dug deep enough

If I just thought deep enough

If I could just be profound enough

If I could get to the core

If I could go where no one else dared to go

to find some great, undiscovered, holy truth

then my true greatness would be discovered

That eternal outsider, scapegoat, stranger, foreigner

that Jew was never you, Sylvia Plath

That Jew, that forever damned wandering Jew,

wondering, dreaming, that chosen dream -

I was chosen for greatness,

that dream doesn’t belong to you, Sylvia Plath

That superior, inferior Jew -

forever everyone’s yardstick

The cry hounding - I’m not like you

I’m not like you

Then the cry wailing

I’m all alone, alone

Then the cry cut off -

that’s suicide

Now it’s your turn to cry



If I like the magician pulling the rabbit out of the hat

Could find that great, paradoxical, blinding, mystical truth

then greatness belongs to me

and if the rabbit is Alice in Wonderland’s rabbit

and I fall into a hole

Lord, Lord remember we were slaves in the land of Pharoah

And if all is vanity, and this is a sin

And the blinding light

And the shadow

supplies no answer

(as usual, so don’t be surprised)

Remember to grab, clutch,

or even commit a break-in to a theme

This shall be good

This too shall pass

My turn to read the suicide note

If we can just crack open the safe with the right combination

Madonna’s kabala notwithstanding

then the light of truth will pour fourth

And just like Woody Allen likes nothing more than a good jest with G-d and Death

so we can drop the old fashioned G-d of the Jews

and meet the new G-d who is hiding his face

And if I am ranting and raving like a runaway Jew

lost and found in the promised homeland

where else can said Jew continuously bob for the apple

Let’s go deeper and deeper into the matter

the crux of the matter

the cervix of the matter

if Alice in Wonderland goes down the rabbit hole

And Jefferson Airplane sings go ask Alice

who will liberate who

who is master and who is slave and who will say so

who will dance the cha-cha all over the world to save the world

who can make sense from nonsense

And remember the Day of Atonement

And remember Kol Nidre’s promise of annulment

And remember the forgiving G-d

And remember the precision of the surgical cut or reality hurts

Gone, going, go

move, move

Whether its backwards, forwards, upside down, inside out

dance to the music of the abyss

dance to the tune of colossal pillars of mistakes



And if I took the polygraph test for true confessions

Would you finally believe me, finally?

In my distress, I called out to you

Like some people can’t cry

Like some people can’t get angry

Like some people can’t say no

In my distress, I called out to you

And upon my soul,

spiritual person, I am not

so moving, so heart rending

I am not

spellbinding, spellblinding

tearbinding, tearblinding

I am not

I affirm, I am not

And if you understand

And if you misunderstand

what I am

Remember, Dear Lord,

Your own advice

confession is good for the soul

if the whirlpool, whirlwind sucks you in

breathe deep

hold that breath

but don’t turn blue

Lord, Lord don’t ask me any more questions

Explanations just take their toll, their toil

If I just keep peeling this fruit

eating this fruit

let the juice spread, spill

Have I confessed enough for you, for me

Lord, You can’t give up on me

Lord, I can’t give up on you

why is it so hard to stop writing

If I stop writing

will I be abandoned

If I stop writing

it’s suicide

If I stop writing

this is my suicide note

If I stop writing . . .

Pray for me

Answer 3

The problem, you should know

Is figuring out a way to go

Explosions are messy and very painful

Jumping from a cliff to me seems disdainful

For one thing it may not be high enough

With twenty-six broken bones that's got to be tough

Then there's always a pile of meds

Most likely you'd heave them up on your bed

Or one could always kiss a train

But again you gotta consider the awful pain

Better to just muddle on through

Who knows what life has in store for you?

It could be good, it could be bad

You could be ecstatic, you could be sad

But the dead know only one thing -

- and this ain't no jive

It is definitely better to be alive.

Answer 4

i find suicide poetry to be very cliche.