There's a point in life where you think about death.
Blood, soaking into your bedroom floor.
A suicide note is all they'll have of you,
Burn everything you own
except this paper and pencil
No-one understands what's going on inside this depressed
figure,
Sitting in a dark room alone,
Sitting with a razor, kissing your flesh, spilling your blood,
No-one knows what's happening
All they fine is a suicide note, your blood soaked up
in your bedroom floor,
DEAR MOM AND DAD,
YOU HAVE FOUND MY NOTE AND MY BODY, NOW YOU KNOW WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON INSIDE OF THIS FIGURE, IN A DARK ROOM, ALONE.
Tricia Lemaster
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/suicide-note-35/
