Categories > Original > Poetry
Come What May.
4 ReviewsSuicide has never been so beautiful. .
What a tragedy it is today
to see such sorrow last
where the lilies grow and where lies the sage
we hear the telltale blast
in a lilting melody the bullet flies
to where its lover sits
crushing bone and marrow, a corpse’s lie
upwards the drops of blood flit
blowing her brain to bits
spinning her to the ground
our damsel’s descent begins
where the lifeless start to foul
eyes unseeing, blare the scene of the crime
they stare up into the starry sky
the worms weave up her bruised skin and they wind
they crawl in and out while above the robins fly
her wrists tell stories, they speak like a map
her hands are stained with ink
the words they portray are worn and scratched
hands clenched from holding a cocktail drink
there’s a note by this shell
it says neither goodbye or good day
a parting farewell
and a scrawled come what may
this beautiful husk of things once living
shows that it is harder than it seems to die
while the world looks like it’s still spinning
she tries and she tries and, she tried
as I stare down at the cadaver I begin to wonder
was it something she saw?
my thoughts are marred by thunder
and stained from something so sad and raw
the sky is cloudy from a haze of dust
the air thick with bloody dew
yet there’s still the shining, beating sun
and the flowers, they sway too
sometimes I look at life's gifts
and think of how it could be better
without oxygen to hinder it
or to blank out its bold header
imagination is at its best
it plays little games here and there
no more can its dormancy rest
we can only look at it through wit and fear
death comes easy and it comes with a vengeance
we knock at its door everyday
the exercise to escape its hold, yet strenuous
leads us to now, where it shows we can stray
let them take me away in a black-covered cart
wrap me up in a old lacy caul
after the funeral, please don’t depart
let them preach the words of Paul
I’ve spilled so many tears in my short, sweet life
I’ve done so much my weary heart regrets
let them bury me not with strife
but lay me to sleep without any debts
Welp. This is what depresson feels like, eh? By the way, this is Mia, or fatherfuckingmeese. My other account's being a bitch. :P Whatever. Rate and Review please. It'd make me oh-so-happy.
to see such sorrow last
where the lilies grow and where lies the sage
we hear the telltale blast
in a lilting melody the bullet flies
to where its lover sits
crushing bone and marrow, a corpse’s lie
upwards the drops of blood flit
blowing her brain to bits
spinning her to the ground
our damsel’s descent begins
where the lifeless start to foul
eyes unseeing, blare the scene of the crime
they stare up into the starry sky
the worms weave up her bruised skin and they wind
they crawl in and out while above the robins fly
her wrists tell stories, they speak like a map
her hands are stained with ink
the words they portray are worn and scratched
hands clenched from holding a cocktail drink
there’s a note by this shell
it says neither goodbye or good day
a parting farewell
and a scrawled come what may
this beautiful husk of things once living
shows that it is harder than it seems to die
while the world looks like it’s still spinning
she tries and she tries and, she tried
as I stare down at the cadaver I begin to wonder
was it something she saw?
my thoughts are marred by thunder
and stained from something so sad and raw
the sky is cloudy from a haze of dust
the air thick with bloody dew
yet there’s still the shining, beating sun
and the flowers, they sway too
sometimes I look at life's gifts
and think of how it could be better
without oxygen to hinder it
or to blank out its bold header
imagination is at its best
it plays little games here and there
no more can its dormancy rest
we can only look at it through wit and fear
death comes easy and it comes with a vengeance
we knock at its door everyday
the exercise to escape its hold, yet strenuous
leads us to now, where it shows we can stray
let them take me away in a black-covered cart
wrap me up in a old lacy caul
after the funeral, please don’t depart
let them preach the words of Paul
I’ve spilled so many tears in my short, sweet life
I’ve done so much my weary heart regrets
let them bury me not with strife
but lay me to sleep without any debts
Welp. This is what depresson feels like, eh? By the way, this is Mia, or fatherfuckingmeese. My other account's being a bitch. :P Whatever. Rate and Review please. It'd make me oh-so-happy.
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