Looking out my bed room window,
wishing you were mine.
Crying all alone with no one beside,
no friends in my life to lean on and cry.
Yes, I’m still here, waiting to die.
Nothing is right,
everything goes wrong,
headaches… torture,
must this go on?
It feels like a sharp sword,
puncturing a hole in my chest.
Sliding the sword in, pulling it out.
While all the sorrow, all the souls, all the lives,
flowing down like a stream, I can now hear the screams…
of the innocent lives I suddenly took, the blood I drank,
the love that I took.
Realizing now, I was a minute from death.
I pulled out the sword, pointed the gun at my chest.
then I noticed I was the most grotesque.
Suddenly I woke up, un-buttoned my shirt…
I then saw the hole still punctured in my chest,
I was no longer pale, I absorbed all the blood.
The demon within me, desired to finish me off.
Sitting there I took out the gun…
pulling the trigger, now it’s done.
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Poems don’t always rhyme… I mixed this up, with rhyming and feeling… It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I decided to submit it, for all of the public to see.