Position:Home>Poetry> Any good suicide peoms u wrote?

I had suicidal thoughts, but I never made an actual attempt!. I hope you will never make any more attempts and I wish you happiness and long life!.

"Surreal Confession"


Admit it
Got an inferiority complex
As big as Woody Allen’s repertoire
or Moby Dick’s head

If I’m invited to a party
I’ll sing my version of
Lesley Gore’s “It’s Not My Party
and I’ll cry if I want to

I’ll head for the food and drinks
and pray that my trembling hands
don’t wreck the décor

If I head for the wall,
as all wallflowers must
Because no one can possibly
want to speak with me
Because no one can possibly
like me
Because I am !. !. !. !.*

And as all good anti semites will tell you
the Jew is trembling –
he doesn’t fit in –
he’s inferior
the Jew with his Jewish nose
held high in the air –
he’s morally superior –
he doesn’t fit in –

When the confessional poets
start confessing and committing suicide
Oh Lord, I want to be in that number
Can I top that confession!?

When I was young,
suicidal fantasies gave great pleasure
Like the great confessional poet courting death
Embracing and making love to death

*alternate version

Because I am the ultimate, ultra-outcast
like an unbearable Kafka smirk

But really I was in love with my suicide note
Now that’s writing to a captured audience
This note was my revenge
and I tirelessly worked, played, imagined
my revenge fantasy gave great pleasure
the great sado masochistic thrill of suffering together
Bound together eternally in suffering – finally famous –
finally an accomplishment, achievement,
the goal to end all goals
So glorious death –
savoring the taste, the bond, the belief, the relief –
I’m free finally, but I have enslaved you –
Finally unforgettable,
Finally part of the landscape
Finally part of your life

If I just dug deep enough
If I just thought deep enough
If I could just be profound enough
If I could get to the core
If I could go where no one else dared to go
to find some great, undiscovered, holy truth
then my true greatness would be discovered

That eternal outsider, scapegoat, stranger, foreigner
that Jew was never you, Sylvia Plath
That Jew, that forever damned wandering Jew,
wondering, dreaming, that chosen dream -
I was chosen for greatness,
that dream doesn’t belong to you, Sylvia Plath
That superior, inferior Jew -
forever everyone’s yardstick
The cry hounding - I’m not like you
I’m not like you
Then the cry wailing
I’m all alone, alone
Then the cry cut off -
that’s suicide
Now it’s your turn to cry

If I like the magician pulling the rabbit out of the hat
Could find that great, paradoxical, blinding, mystical truth
then greatness belongs to me
and if the rabbit is Alice in Wonderland’s rabbit
and I fall into a hole
Lord, Lord remember we were slaves in the land of Pharoah
And if all is vanity, and this is a sin
And the blinding light
And the shadow
supplies no answer
(as usual, so don’t be surprised)
Remember to grab, clutch,
or even commit a break-in to a theme
This shall be good
This too shall pass
My turn to read the suicide note

If we can just crack open the safe with the right combination
Madonna’s kabala notwithstanding
then the light of truth will pour fourth
And just like Woody Allen likes nothing more than a good jest with G-d and Death
so we can drop the old fashioned G-d of the Jews
and meet the new G-d who is hiding his face
And if I am ranting and raving like a runaway Jew
lost and found in the promised homeland
where else can said Jew continuously bob for the apple

Let’s go deeper and deeper into the matter
the crux of the matter
the cervix of the matter
if Alice in Wonderland goes down the rabbit hole
And Jefferson Airplane sings go ask Alice
who will liberate who
who is master and who is slave and who will say so
who will dance the cha-cha all over the world to save the world
who can make sense from nonsense

And remember the Day of Atonement
And remember Kol Nidre’s promise of annulment
And remember the forgiving G-d
And remember the precision of the surgical cut or reality hurts

Gone, going, go
move, move
Whether its backwards, forwards, upside down, inside out
dance to the music of the abyss
dance to the tune of colossal pillars of mistakes

And if I took the polygraph test for true confessions
Would you finally believe me, finally!?
In my distress, I called out to you
Like some people can’t cry
Like some people can’t get angry
Like some people can’t say no

In my distress, I called out to you
And upon my soul,
spiritual person, I am not
so moving, so heart rending
I am not

spellbinding, spellblinding
tearbinding, tearblinding
I am not
I affirm, I am not
And if you understand
And if you misunderstand
what I am
Remember, Dear Lord,
Your own advice
confession is good for the soul

if the whirlpool, whirlwind sucks you in
breathe deep
hold that breath
but don’t turn blue

Lord, Lord don’t ask me any more questions
Explanations just take their toll, their toil
If I just keep peeling this fruit
eating this fruit
let the juice spread, spill
Have I confessed enough for you, for me

Lord, You can’t give up on me
Lord, I can’t give up on you
why is it so hard to stop writing
If I stop writing
will I be abandoned
If I stop writing
it’s suicide
If I stop writing
this is my suicide note
If I stop writing !. !. !.
Pray for meWww@QuestionHome@Com

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Am I Alone!? ?
by Megan Hance

I get a funny feeling,
it comes from deep inside!.
I get all mad and angry,
wanting to go and hide!.

My doctor calls it depression,
my dad says it's just me!.
But the thoughts and feelings,
no one will ever be able to see!.

Some say I'm psycho,
some say I'm just weird!.
It's like I'm a different person,
and the old me just disappeared!.

I get really edgy,
I want to commit suicide real bad!.
Then I get a headache,
followed by feeling sad!.

I wish I could get help,
I wish it would go away!.
Maybe if I keep praying real hard,
it will some day!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

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The problem, you should know
Is figuring out a way to go
Explosions are messy and very painful
Jumping from a cliff to me seems disdainful
For one thing it may not be high enough
With twenty-six broken bones that's got to be tough
Then there's always a pile of meds
Most likely you'd heave them up on your bed
Or one could always kiss a train
But again you gotta consider the awful pain
Better to just muddle on through
Who knows what life has in store for you!?
It could be good, it could be bad
You could be ecstatic, you could be sad
But the dead know only one thing -
- and this ain't no jive

It is definitely better to be alive!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

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i find suicide poetry to be very cliche!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

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