The soft roses that singled around my body
And a slightly uncomfortable bed
I guess it's better knowing I'm dead
I feel the prick of the flowers
That have been wrapped in my hands
And feel the sorrowful gazes
Of my loved ones
I've had a good life
I've cried, laughed, been crazy
About everything that's gone on
I guess dying at seventeen isn't too bad
Now I know I can live in peace
It's strange though
To leave behind everything I've built
In those seventeen years of life
It's strange to think
I'll never talk to my friends again
Or have a petty fight with my siblings
Or that I'll live to see the last day of my parents
But it's okay
The cold chilly breeze of being dead makes me feel
More alive than I ever have
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YOU ARE READING
Hopeless Poet
PoetryI write about the world. Her, him, the places of meaning, aggression, compassion, or human nature. TRIGGER WARNING !! some poems talk about s*elf harm and su*cide. Please do not read if you are sensitive to such topics. I will try to put a trigger...
