Poems for The Boredom

Lovely

I use to want to kill myself.

I use to want to die.

I use to stay awake all night,

And just cry.

I use to paint pretty pictures,

Painted with my blood.

They all looked so lovely.

Yet my tears still caused a flood.

Flooded with tears was my room.

A mess of papers on the bed.

All bloody, and not lovely.

I wanted to drown instead.

I had a fear of water though.

Could not kill myself that way.

I chose to clean the room.

And just for that night stay.

I drew a pretty picture.

This time with a knife.

No blood was spilled.

Yet I still wanted to end my life.

I use to want to kill myself.

I use to want to die.

So I took a rope around my neck

And decided I wanted to fly.

I flew for once,

But the flight was cut short.

I hung there for a second,

And decided to abort.

I use to want to die.

But not anymore.

I use to want to die,

And now I am rotting on the floor.