this poem, like many of mine, is written in my darkess hours, hours of depression.


the end

In the darkest hour,
The time just before dawn,
The world seems to close a little,
And nothing is warm.

As this time draws closer,
Images flow through my head.
People's pain and suffering,
People lying dead.

Drawings flow free,
From my paper and pen.
Tears and strife,
When does this all end?

The reflection in the mirror,
Stares back haunting deranged.
The knife's sharpness glitters,
The end can be arranged.

The knife is heavy,
Held tight in my hand.
Excitement makes me shake,
My heart starts to beat like a band.

On quick flash of steel,
A bright river of red,
The end is near, it is here,
I will soon be laying here dead.




Poetry by amy-leigh
Read 580 times
Written on 2006-07-28 at 02:32

Tags Blood  Pain  Suffering 

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