The Suicide

I tell her I love her I tell her she's perfect She raises the silver gun higher I tell her she's beautiful I tell her I'll never leave her She puts it to her temple I beg her to stop I tell her of all our fun times I tell her how much I'd miss her How we'd never be able to see another sunset Never be able to hold hands again She loosens it a little Crystal white drops form near her eyes I tell her she's got her life ahead of her She puts it back to her head I tell her we can live through it if we try A red cloud shoots from her into the room And it turns the white wall rouge So I helplessly leaveSaddest poem I've ever written. Luckily it's not autobiographical, just a parallel to how I've felt at times. Any comments/questions/criticisms are welcome. Written October 9th, 2001 © on Oct 09 2001 01:46 PM PST   0 • 1