Oozing To Death
I smell the hatred in my blood,
As it oozes past my hand,
While it wets my bed and clothes,
I cry aloud and pray it to stop.
Failure is the crown on my head,
I will be soon one among the dead,
Let the pain lead me to rest,
Once for all, let there be an end to the 'Pest'.
'Coward'- I may be called by a few,
Suicide would be the 'type' they would say,
People may talk about me for sometime,
Isn't it also one of the ways to gain fame?
I searched the world for a reason to live,
With no conclusion I decided to give up,
My worthless life,
And hence I have decided to leave.
New country, new faces, new buildings and sceneries,
Failed to bring in the charm,
I lie alone in a vast farm,
Having cut my hand, Iím waiting for my blood to drain.
------- Author's Notes -------
Cut my hand once -Accidently. Am passing thro' a very bad phase.I let the blood ooze for a while and thought of how it would be to commit suicide in the same manner.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|swati (172.20.145.170) -- Wednesday, May 17 2006, 08:41 am|
good one da.....
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