Author: Kenny's Goodness
Type of Work: poem
Source: CMv1 #15
© Copyright 2002 Kenny's Goodness
You're sinking, sinking fast,
A hand reaches out to you,
Someone screams for you to hold on,
You're going to make it,
But you don't want to,
Because, you did do it to yourself.
No one wants to change the irreversible,
Only end it in the most horrible of ways,
Suicide, or seppuku, as it's called in some cultures,
No, you do not want to be helped,
But they insist, trying to pull you out
Out from your impending doom,
Trying to save the damned.
Hold on, baby, hold on, they cry,
Not knowing that you couldn't care less
Whether you lived or died,
Knowing the world would do nothing but taunt you
In seemingly endless bursts of hatred and malice,
Knowing they were going to mock you for the rest
Of your drastically short life,
On that you had to end on your own,
Or attempted to, anyway,
Until this fool came along.
Thinking they could be the hero,
Thinking they could play the part,
But knowing inevitably they were going to fail,
But adamantly denying it, as the ambulance wails.
You sink deeper, slipping in and out of consciousness,
The will to live gone, the love in your soul lost.
A hand reaches out and holds yours,
Saying you're going to be okay,
But you're already gone,
Gone to the hell that you deserved.
No great loss.