Suicide is my mother, she ties the knot in the rope that hangs around your neck, she's the trigger that targets the bullet blowing your memories and soul away, she's the blade cutting through your paper like skin making all hopes and dreams you had bleed out, she's the wind that pushes you off the building you had your first kiss at, she's the white pills that slide down the throat you threw most of your food up with, she's the water you push yourself under holding all the breath your about to never get back, she's is the release you'll never find. She is suicide.
YOU ARE READING
teenage fools
PoetryI write poetry about life, death, love, hurt, depression, and basically everything.
