Related quotes: Since you ask, most days...

Wanting to Die

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns.

Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention,
the furniture you have placed under the sun.

But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.

Twice I have so simply declared myself,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic.

In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.

I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body.

Still-born, they don’t always die,
but dazzled, they can’t forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.

To thrust all that life under your tongue!—
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death’s a sad bone; bruised, you’d say,

and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,

leaving the page of the book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love whatever it was, an infection.

poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes

Yearning to die

Why should i yearn?

I'm dry and weary, I feel like a zombie

naked inside and my blood becomes fatigued.

Even then my life i cherish, for I know that

the autumn leaves will fall and brighten

my injured heart. My thoughts cannot bring

me suicides language, I'm not a friend of evil,

yet still he tries to eat me alive. Worn-out; i can

still feel my body rigorous; my mind giving

signals to my weary body, not to give up. I did

not torture my body like they do to slaves,

suicides will cease and let it rest. I know I

can't trust in the depths of my thoughts, or the

language they speak, that all becomes a passion.

Death is a sad word, although bruised, my wound

will heal. Like the moonlight kisses the night,

I will kiss and gratify the glory of life.

poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Poets... In The Night

dead poets visit me in the night....
we walk the darkened hollow streets.
talking softly, or not at all....

listening to the sounds of darkness.
doors closed, curtains pulled;
those who can, sleep....

and lovers wrapped inside each other
talk in a language known only by gods.
while the broken ones stumble by,

the sound of their weeping heavy,
and cold as the night....
clouds race across the moon

leaving scars on the homeless and hungry.
young women cry out giving birth
to the screech of the owl....

churches stand empty and sterile.
the suicides and the penitents
go about their business quickly.

we stand on the corner of doubt and hope,
brothers and sisters in arms.
raise the last bottle, light a smoke....

and wait, shivering, for the endless dawn!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Enemy Of All

A father is the enemy
When he left unpaid debts
A foolish son is the enemy of
His parents
A beautiful wife is the enemy of
Her husband
A mother with loose character
Is the enemy of her children
A greedy corrupt and notorious king
Is the enemy of the country men
O friend, remember
If you are not doing any good deeds
Beneficial to others you are the enemy
Of your soul and enemy of you
As you are destroying yourself
As your same soul is there in the body of all.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Life

Waste not this precious life.
Live it up in this life.
Don't wish for another life.
Sometimes it's a fleeting life,

Death can cut short one's life,
Alcohol, Drugs, purse snatchers plight,
Accidents, Murders, tragic suicides.
Sickness, Cancers, Genocides.

Drop the worries, the 'have not',
'what ifs', the regrets, the lot.
What you possess, why measure?
Build, protect your treasure.

A short life, a long life,
A hard life, a good life.
Each, different, yet the same life,
We have but one life.

poem by Philo Yan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sad Soul's Dream

Sadness and greif
Won't be found on a leaf.
By the slice of a knife,
You end your own life.

Jump ten stories high,
To give death a try.
Point a gun to your head,
Pull the trigger, now your dead.

Death is a pleasure,
For suicides's measure.
Life is a mistake
That we should never take.

But the sad soul's dreams
Are never what one seems.
For life is a gift
That is always missed.

poem by Mariah Simpson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lucky

If you are lucky in this life,
you will get to help your enemy
the way I got to help my mother
when she was weakened past the point of saying no.

Into the big enamel tub
half-filled with water
which I had made just right,
I lowered the childish skeleton
she had become.

Her eyelids fluttered as I soaped and rinsed
her belly and her chest,
the sorry ruin of her flanks
and the frayed gray cloud
between her legs.

Some nights, sitting by her bed
book open in my lap
while I listened to the air
move thickly in and out of her dark lungs,
my mind filled up with praise
as lush as music,

amazed at the symmetry and luck
that would offer me the chance to pay
my heavy debt of punishment and love
with love and punishment.

And once I held her dripping wet
in the uncomfortable air
between the wheelchair and the tub,
until she begged me like a child

to stop,
an act of cruelty which we both understood
was the ancient irresistible rejoicing
of power over weakness.

If you are lucky in this life,
you will get to raise the spoon
of pristine, frosty ice cream
to the trusting creature mouth
of your old enemy

because the tastebuds at least are not broken
because there is a bond between you
and sweet is sweet in any language.

poem by Tony Hoagland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Smile Of An Enemy

The smile of an enemy
makin me think it's the
end of me

Fearful to the core of heart
is that smile of an enemy
feels like I can't run
feels like I can't hide...
from that smile of an enemy

Is my life written in stone
by my enemy?
The smile of an enemy
has taken over me
and I can't do a damn thing
about it
or can I?

Who's hands are over
the smile of an enemy?
Who pulls the corners of
his mouth makin my enemy
smile at me?
I have to put my hands over
his mouth
My hands are now over his
mouth

He is not smiling at me now
He is smiling at my hands
over his mouth!
And he can't do a damn
Thing about it
I have taken away the smile
of my enemy
His smile that scares me so
are in my hands now

poem by Brenda Poole
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I call your heart my home (English sonnet)

If what we have does surpass life and death,
if nothing could the essence of its presence remove,
if you are part of me and present in every breath,
then eternally it may stay as our own true love,

when not the smell of a flower or honey are as sweet,
when no other I can ever anywhere find
in the street or wherever I another meet
then you do fill my body, soul and mind.

When your commitment goes further than the body's bliss,
as daily with kindness and forgiving our relationship does resume
then there is a kind of magic in every kiss,
then there is something special that last past even doom

as daily new life and strength does come
when I call your heart my home.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death’s nature

Death takes away life;
So do accidents and suicides;
So do killings and murders.
Healthy life is not sure for a long life.
17.10.06

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnets (1923)

VIII8.
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!
.
Give back my book and take my kiss instead.
.
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard,
.
"What a big book for such a little head!"
.
Come, I will show you now my newest hat,
.
And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink!
.
Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that.
.
I never again shall tell you what I think.
.
I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly;
.

You will not catch me reading any more:
.

I shall be called a wife to pattern by;
.

And some day when you knock and push the door,
.

Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,
.

I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me. IX9.
Here is a wound that never will heal, I know,
.
Being wrought not of a dearness and a death,
.
But of a love turned ashes and the breath
.
Gone out of beauty; never again will grow
.
The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow
.
Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath
.
Its friendly weathers down, far underneath
.
Shall be such bitterness of an old woe.
.
That April should be shattered by a gust,
.

That August should be levelled by a rain,
.

I can endure, and that the lifted dust
.

Of man should settle to the earth again;
.

But that a dream can die, will be a thrust
.

Between my ribs forever of hot pain. XVIII18.
I, being born a woman and distressed
.
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
.
Am urged by your propinquity to find
.
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
.
To bear your body's weight upon my breast:
.
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
.
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
.
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
.

Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
.

I shall remember you with love, or season
.

My scorn with pity, -- let me make it plain:
.

I find this frenzy insufficient reason
.

For conversation when we meet again. XIX19.
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
.
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
.
Under my head till morning; but the rain
.
Is full of ghosts to-night, that tap and sigh
.
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
.
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
.
For unremembered lads that not again
.
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
.

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
.

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
.

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
.

I only know that summer sang in me
.

A little while, that in me sings no more.

poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Matamoras Banks

(Each year many die crossing the deserts,
mountains and rivers of our southern border
in search of a better life. Here I follow the
journey backwards, from the body at the
river bottom, to the man walking across
the desert towards the banks of the Rio Grande.)
For two days the river keeps you down
Then you rise to the light without a sound
Past the playgrounds and empty switching yards
The turtles eat the skin from your eyes, so they lay open to the stars
Your clothes give way to the current and river stone
'Till every trace of who you ever were is gone
And the things of the earth they make their claim
That the things of heaven may do the same
Goodbye, my darling, for your love I give God thanks,
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
Over rivers of stone and ancient ocean beds
I walk on sandals of twine and tire tread
My pockets full of dust, my mouth filled with cool stone
The pale moon opens the earth to its bones
I long, my darling, for your kiss, for your sweet love I give God thanks
The touch of your loving fingertips
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
Your sweet memory comes on the evenin' wind
I sleep and dream of holding you in my arms again
The lights of Brownsville, across the river shine
A shout rings out and into the silty red river I dive
I long, my darling, for your kiss, for your sweet love I give God thanks
A touch of your loving fingertips
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To live or not to live

SUICIDE SUICIDE IN MY BRAIN
SUICIDE IS THE WAY
I CANNOT BEAR THE PAIN
I WILL KILL MYSELF BY DRINKING POISON
FOR MY LIFE DOES NOT HAVE A REASON

SUICIDES NOT THE WAY PLEASE USE YOUR BRAIN
FROM COMMITING SUICIDE THERES NOTHING YOU WILL GAIN
PRAY TO GOD YOU WILL DISCOVER YOUR PURPOSE
FOR YOUR LIFE DOES HAVE A SPECIAL PURPOSE

YOU’LL KILL YOUR BODY NOT YOUR SOUL
IF YOU SUICIDE YOU ARE A FOOL
ONLY GOD IS THERE TO TAKE YOUR LIFE
SO PLEASE DON’T CUT YOUR WRIST
THROW AWAY THE KNIFE

ALL RIGHT THEN I HAVE MADE MY DECISION
I WAS WRONG I WAS MISTAKEN
I WILL NOT SUICIDE TO GO TO HELL
I WILL LIVE LONGER AND WORK FOR HEAVE

poem by Mohammed Junaid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drowning Ophelia

The water seeps up, up
(lapping, licking, soothing)
twisting around the parts of
your body that you have
come to know and hate
because this is the body
that the world abandoned

The water is soothing
the water is deep
lay down your heavy head
close yours eyes and sleep
(thick, dreaming, dark)
sweet, bright little lamb
so alone, so lost in Hell

The water circles your neck
clothing you in elegant dress
your mouth was once dust
your body made of bugs
now water floods your lungs
(silk against burlap)
you feel clean and pure and done

This is how you drown
legs twisted and still
hands thrust out into the chill
letting the water, clean and cold
(sweet, inky, dark, deep)
take your tired, finished mind
and dance it down to sleep

poem by Elizabeth Rebel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Banquet Of Love

I once heard these words in a song;
'You must remember this...a kiss is
just a kiss...a sigh is just a sigh, ' etc.

With you...nothing...nothing, could be
further from the truth.

Your kiss, is a ride among the stars,
a shower of moon beams and a
sailboat ride, in the Garden Of Eden.

Kissing you...is an out of body experience,
a transport to paradise and a creation
of ultimate passion and joy.

Kissing, every part of who you are, is
truly a banquet of love.

Let me feast of your love and of your lips,
for I am in love with you. Let me always
kiss your mouth...eyes...all of you.

Let us ride the feathers of angels, through
starlit nights-holding...kissing, for now...
and evermore.

Your kiss...touch...embrace, has captured
my heart...my very soul.

I send you this kiss...for the lips
I can not do without.

*Kiss*............*Kiss*
*Kiss *..........Kiss*
*Kiss*......Kiss*
*Kiss*.. .*Kiss*
*Kiss*.*Kiss*
*Kiss*......*Kiss*
*Kiss*........*Kiss*
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.........* Kiss*
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.........*Kis s*
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...........* Kiss*
.....*Kiss*....*Kiss*
..*Kiss*....... .*Kiss*
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..*Kiss*.....*Kiss*
..........*Kiss

To kiss you...love you...has made my
life worthwhile. Has given meaning, to
each day I live.

A day without your kiss, is as a day
without sunshine. Just the thought
of you, gladdens my heart.

*Kiss*............*Kiss*
*Kiss*. .........Kiss*
*Kiss*......Kiss*
*Kiss*...* Kiss*
*Kiss*.*Kiss*
*Kiss*......*Kiss*
* Kiss*........*Kiss*
*Kiss*............*Kiss**Kiss*...............*Kiss*

.........*Ki ss*
.........*Kiss*
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..*Kiss*.....*Kiss*
..........*Kiss

ONE LAST KISS, FOR ALL THAT YOU ARE.
FOR ALL THAT YOU DO.

WHY DO I LOVE YOU?
BECAUSE...YOU ARE YOU.

YOU ARE MY WORLD. MY LOVE.

*Kiss*............*Kiss*
*Kiss*.. ........Kiss*
*Kiss*......Kiss*
*Kiss*...*K iss*
*Kiss*.*Kiss*
*Kiss*......*Kiss*
*K iss*........*Kiss*
*Kiss*............*Kiss*
*Kiss*...............*Kiss*

.........*Kis s*
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..... ....*Kiss*
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.........*Kiss*
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............*Ki ss*
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..*Kiss*........* Kiss*
..*Kiss*........*Kiss*
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.*Kiss*.......*Kiss*
.Kiss*.......*Kiss*
..*Kiss*.....*Kiss*
...........*Kiss

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kisses For You...