A suicide prayer

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    A suicide prayer

    I hope I die before I wake.
    To end it all my life to take.
    I lay my head down, pretend to sleep.
    Close my eyes, sink into the deep.
    The deep dark shadows held within.
    A reflection of all the guilty sin.

    If I don't die before I wake
    I swear to god my heart will break.
    How it will break I'll never know
    Since it was broken so long ago.
    Now I lie with the empty bottle beside me
    For I want the whole world to see.
    I'm dying inside,
    when i run and hide.
    My heart full of sorrow,
    I might be dead tomorrow.
    Hiding behind this mask,
    a guaranteed uneasy task.
    Why can't I hold on?
    Is it because you're gone?
    Can't help but feel lonely,
    When you're not here to hold me.
    I'll sit in my room and pray,
    Please, take thisl ife away..

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    nini2323 commented on A suicide prayer

    02-21-2009

    I think that you using a poem to express yourself is so much better than the alternative I know being lonely is hard but in the end you will be exactly where you need to be

    JazzyChic commented on A suicide prayer

    12-30-2008

    I hope this is for someone else and not you, but if it is I see this as a cry for help. Pray your way thru this. Killing yourself is not the answer. Although we let the devil come in and lead us to believe the world would be a better place without

    bethal13 commented on A suicide prayer

    12-08-2008

    This poem really hits home with me. You and I have similar poems...or would if I would ever finish posting mine :) again awesome poem

    Smitchell commented on A suicide prayer

    12-02-2008

    I understand your pain... hang in there. I did and it was worth it.

    playmistyforme commented on A suicide prayer

    11-25-2008

    i don't believe in killing yourself. but i guess this is how someone feels if they have thoughts of doing it. i hope you were not talking of yourself.

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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