Suicidal
all the fingers
point to him
a knife is
beside his
throat
his hand
holds it
blood will
flow
his own.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Last Text
Up against my throat, I hold a hunting knife
This text will be my last
For, when it's done, I'll take my life
Oh, I'll have a blast
Through my throat, the knife will cut
Causing blood to spurt out of the open wound
I get a feeling of relief in my gut
For I know it'll all soon be over and done
And this text will be my last
It would be easier with a gun
But, either way, it'll be a blast
I won't die fast
But, oh, how it'll be a blast!
poem by Amy Parkinson
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Bow Before My Death
I lie beneath the flame this night,
I bow before my death,
He takes my hand,
And holds me close,
Death embraces me,
He says the time has come,
Beginning now meets end,
He says the fires taken me,
And now it's time to walk,
Walk the path of fates sweet song.
I lie beneath the flame this night,
I bow before my death,
The fires stripped me of my sins,
Humility my pride,
Now death guides me through the dark,
And speaks to me kind words,
'The pain has stopped,
It won't come back,
Your senses now are cleansed,
The soul has been washed clean',
He says the end is pleasure.
I lie beneath the flame this night,
I bow before my death,
Death's a man clothed in blue jeans,
A white shirt stained with blood,
Death holds a knife,
Death slits my throat,
Death is the end of my beginning.
I lie beneath the flame this night.
I bow before my death.
poem by Holly Heron
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Pleasure
Try to comprehend me
Before you tear the aorta
Stab with a knife...
...Once again
Cut throat does not compare
To the pleasure of raping a child
Following her,
I leered at her tiny boy
Watched her delicate moves
And that strange freshness
Now, she's just a dead,
Ripped corpse
...In the cut throat
I find my pleasure
Raping the child
You hatefully murder,
Then desecrate
My body
You should have
Done it before...
...Before you thought
Of revenge
I was molested
It doesn't matter now
Now it's blood
Now it's sperm
Cut throat,
Pleasure
song performed by by Yattering
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ink Is My Blood
I am a poet.
There is ink in my blood.
I flow through lines
As a river meandering its course.
My blood is ink,
Ink is my blood.
I give life to the depressed
I flow to educate
I flow to enlighten
I meander to caution
I wriggle to chastise
I correct ills in the lands
I flow beyond borders
I flow through out the world.
My ink flows ceaselessly after my departure
It flows to the land I never tread
My ink is my life.
My ink may look ordinary
But it is a potent force.
My ink does not faint
My ink is my blood
So, enjoy the drops of my blood
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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Your Blood Seeping Through the New Blood Flow
The razor is the one that cuts the wrists
Drawing blood with every slit
The razor is the one that makes anger let go
Your blood seeping through the new blood flow
The gun is the one that takes your pain
Leaving loved ones and some shame
The gun is the one that lets life go
Your blood seeping through the new blood flow
The pills are the ones that cause endings
Swallowing twenty without pretending
No life left leaking when you swallow
Your blood seeping through the new blood flow
Suicide is your way of giving up
Because you think your life's bankrupt
Suicide your way of letting go
Your blood seeping through the new blood flow
poem by Free Faller
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Blood Flow
Brother brawl brother
Blood flow
Sister sinister sister
Blood flow
Pals plan pals
Blood flow
Sect set sect
Blood flow
Nation nag nation
Blood flow
Blood shed each day
Outstream water of pacific ocean
poem by Alade Abayomi IdrisWhite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hand That Signed the Paper
The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.
The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to murder
That put an end to talk.
The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand that holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.
The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor pat the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Sick bed
The flue eats
my head and throat and body
and still you come and lie
close against me
and let your fingers
branch right through mine.
My throat burns
and I am scared
that you will also
get something
of this awful thing,
but without a worry
you kiss me
and I can feel life
pulsing on your soft hot lips.
Your fingers tickle the hairs
on my lip and chin
and there are teasing devils
dancing in your eyes,
while your fingers
creep to places
under my arms.
Like a child
I am given medicine
while I am already
much better,
in my soul and spirit
since you are with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sick bed[2}
The flue eats
my head and throat and body
and still you come and lie
close against me
and let your fingers
branch right through mine.
My throat burns
and I am scared
that you will also
get something
of this awful thing,
but without a worry
you kiss me
and I can feel life
pulsing on your soft hot lips.
Your fingers tickle the hairs
on my lip and chin
and there are teasing devils
dancing in your eyes,
while your fingers
creep to places
under my arms.
Like a child
I am given medicine
while I am already
much better,
in my soul and spirit
since you are with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Knife Party
My knife - its sharp and chrome
Come see inside my bones
All of the fiends are on the block
Im the new king, Ill take the queen
cause in here were all anemic
In here - anemic and sweet...so...
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Now kiss me
Oooh...well I can float here forever
In this room we cant touch the floor
In here were all anemic
In here - anemic and sweet...so...
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Now kiss me
Ohh... I could float here forever
Ohh... anemic and sweet
Ohh... I could float here forever
Ohh... anemic and sweet...so...
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Get filthy
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And kiss me...
song performed by by Deftones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cut Throat
Delia Demoat cut her husband’s
Throat. Delia slit it clean. She held
His hair tight with her small hand
In a firm grip. There was little fight.
Unexpected and sudden. He slumped
In the chair blood shooting across
And spraying the TV screen. Delia
Released his hair and stood back
The bloody knife in her right hand.
She was shaking, her hands shook.
On the floor by the armchair where
He sat a small book. Blood-soaked
Pages and cover. A gift from his lover.
She dropped the knife, stared at the
TV screen, some I Love Lucy show,
Canned laughter, black and white.
Flickering images. She peered over
The back of the armchair. He was
Slumped bloodied there. She ached,
The bruises showed on arms, her split
Lips mouthed words. Delia breathed
Hard, spat on his head, the phlegm
Sat there on his hair; she sniffed air,
Smelt cigar smoke, his aftershave.
She looked up. Lucy gazed at her on
The screen, canned laughter once more,
Surreal; show over, she peed on the floor.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bleeding
Stop bleeding said the knife
I would if I could said the cut.
Stop bleeding you make me messy with the blood.
I'm sorry said the cut.
Stop or I will sink in farther said the knife.
Don't said the cut.
The knife did not say it couldn't help it but
it sank in farther.
If only you didn't bleed said the knife I wouldn't
have to do this.
I know said the cut I bleed too easily I hate
that I can't help it I wish I were a knife like
you and didn't have to bleed.
Well meanwhile stop bleeding will you said the knife.
Yes you are a mess and sinking in deeper said the cut I
will have to stop.
Have you stopped by now said the knife.
I've almost stopped I think.
Why must you bleed in the first place said the knife.
For the same reason maybe that you must do what you
must do said the cut.
I can't stand bleeding said the knife and sank in farther.
I hate it too said the cut I know it isn't you it's
me you're lucky to be a knife you ought to be glad about that.
Too many cuts around said the knife they're
messy I don't know how they stand themselves.
They don't said the cut.
You're bleeding again.
No I've stopped said the cut see you are coming out now the
blood is drying it will rub off you'll be shiny again and clean.
If only cuts wouldn't bleed so much said the knife coming
out a little.
But then knives might become dull said the cut.
Aren't you still bleeding a little said the knife.
I hope not said the cut.
I feel you are just a little.
Maybe just a little but I can stop now.
I feel a little wetness still said the knife sinking in a
little but then coming out a little.
Just a little maybe just enough said the cut.
That's enough now stop now do you feel better now said the knife.
I feel I have to bleed to feel I think said the cut.
I don't I don't have to feel said the knife drying now
becoming shiny.
poem by May Swenson
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I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
I Don't Know About Tomorrow
I Just Live From Day To Day
And I Don't Borrow From The Sunshine
'cause The Skies Might Turn To Grey
And I Don't Worry About The Future
'cause I Know What Jesus Said
And Today I'm Gonna Walk Right Beside Him
'cause He's The One Who Knows What Is Ahead
There Are Things About Tomorrow
That I Don't Seem To Understand
But I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
And I Know Who Holds My Hand
And Each Step Is Getting Brighter
As The Golden Stairs I Climb
And Every Burden Is Getting Lighter
And All The Clouds Their Silver Line
And I'll Bet The Sun It's Always Shining
And No Tears Will Ever Dim The Eye
And The Ending Of The Rainbow
Where The Mountains They Touch The Sky
There Are Many Things About Tomorrow
I Don't Seem To Understand
But I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
And I Know Who Holds My Hand
Yes I Know Who Holds My Hand
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes from You Light Up My Life
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wood Song
The thin horizon of a plan is almost clear
My friends and I have had a tough time
Bruising our brains hard up against change
All the old dogs and the magician
Now I see were in the boat in two by twos
Only the heart that we have for a tool we could use
And the very close quarters are hard to get used to
Love weighs the hull down with its weight
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And well make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
Thats where I need to go
No way construction of this tricky plan
Was built by other than a greater hand
With a love that passes all out understanding
Watching closely over the journey
Yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide
Seems more than all the courage I can muster up inside
Although we get to have some answers when we reach the other side
The prize is always worth the rocky ride
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And well make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
Thats where I need to go
Sometimes I ask to sneak a closer look
Skip to the final chapter of the book
And then maybe steer us clear from some of the pain it took
To get us where we are this far yeah
But the question drowns in its futility
And even I have got to laugh at me
No one gets to miss the storm of what will be
Just holding on for the ride
The wood is tired and the wood is old
Well make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
Thats where I need to go
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The RAPIST She Fought Back
(5/9/12)
I was coming home late from a date, and did not look
To see if anyone was around or was following me.
When out of the darkness he jumped out
And put his hand on my mouth.
Then put a knife to my throat and told me
"don't be stupid if you want to live
To me your body you will give."
She was always told: "don't put your life in harms way
And if you can - run away".
And if someone grabs you from behind
You must stomp on his foot as hard as you can
He will loosen up his hand. (which she did)
She swung her arm back as hard as she could
The pain in his crotch - he understood.
He dropped the knife and released his hold
She ran so fast - before her legs got cold.
Now there is a reason for this poem I must tell.
DON'T BE A VICTIM- RUN LIKE HELL.
I always told my daughter: to always look around
And to listen for any unfamiliar sound
Preventive medicine can always help you through
If you know just what to do.
p.s. this is just a story -but can happen.
poem by Louis Rams
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Great-Great Uncle Tchaikovsky's DNA
He walks so handsome, tall and lean,
Nothing grander have I seen,
In my son, this child of mine,
Harmonious mirth to ever shine,
A voice so deep and humble still,
He grabs the room despite his will,
Long fingers on a manly hand,
Commanding presence where he stands,
True and gentle when not showing,
The humble heart within him glowing,
The gift of music springs from him,
Not knowing the penchant he holds within,
Tchaikovsky blood in his DNA,
The crowds will want to hear him play,
Through his fingers to his guitar,
From morning glory and moonlit star,
To hear him play brings mortal bliss,
A mother's heart just can't resist.
poem by Victoria Gauci
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After Hearing A Waltz By Bartok
But why did I kill him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!
I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.
Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.
One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!
And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.
One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Nameless Emotion
Scared of being happy,
Too happy to be sad.
Heart just keeps leaping
crazy and wandering,
so can't be sad!
Wrapped in your
Little finger,
Dances my soul
But reigns feel tighter
Around
refusing to go with the flow.
In surrender,
Absolute surrender
Something wants to bow,
Yet another thing in the spine
Refuses to go.
This nameless emotion
Too scared to be happy
Too happy to be sad.
Touch my brow,
magic fingers,
Tears might just flow
Erasing all
That holds back,
refusing to let go
and wrapped in your
little finger
my famished soul might glow.
Pray magic fingers
just....
Touch my brow.
poem by Anjali Kakati
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Losing Grip
Losing grip she holds to life,
She tells herself she won't let go,
Yet here she sits holding the knife,
Moving it ever so slow.
She sits beside her bed,
Knife pressed to skin,
Knees drawn to her head,
For she knows this is a sin.
Tears fall from her eyes,
They fall against the cuts,
Until the blood begin to dry,
She doesn't like this habbit, yet she's stuck in it's rut.
Her head falls back,
As sobs break the silence of the air,
Crys pour from her thoat, yet in volume they lack.
At the back of her eyelids she stairs.
Her hair falls around her,
A warm brown shall,
Not even the touch of a hand would make her stir,
As she listens to her creators call.
Along the slits she traces,
Time after time, line after line,
Forming a pattern like lace,
The paths, the cuts, so even, so fine.
pain shows through her face,
yet she drinks this pain, it is her feast,
Along her wrist, her body, the blood does trace,
She feels the least.
in the depth of the room,
She sits with nothing, no light,
Only the shine of the moon.
She knows sha can't stop, yet it feels so right.
The anger, the sorrow, flows through her, it all leaves,
The blood wipes it away, let's her feel numb,
A blanket of blood is weaved.
Her heart beats; a steady drum.
She looks down at her art,
When all the feelings are gone,
She stands, and slows her heart,
And waits for dawn.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Killer
X The Awakening - Killer X - i remove the knife from the sheath. i am even unableto breathe. excitement roll as a dice, it lands high. i starre through the ceiling into the sky. by the moonlight the blade quick by silver. my spine the fool who cast the shivers. you have no idea what is coming. your end means my beginning. i close my hand over your mouth. i spade the blade across your throat to a smile. the wound opens, warm blood which soakes. your eyes opens, full of fear. the story you tell is from the tears. The words i whisper, will be your last. may God forgive me and my past. - X Before - Killer X - i starre out of my window. nothing makes sense to me, at all. demon voices in my head. intructions to my call. loaded bullets shiver in my gun. the destiny at present, to me unknown. blood is dripping from my hand, my wrist is cut. Why i was born, on this retchet land. i have to eat before my kill. sweat exploding off my face. i am not ill to be sick, today, no one will be saved.
poem by Unic Cjonr
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