My intimation.

Open bottle,

spilling thrills,

Give me silence,

Feeling chills.

 

Cold, dark heart,

Eyes now closed,

pale, lifeless body,

newly exposed.

 

Blood here, blood there

Lost and wan,

tangled, stained hair,

Little black lamb.

 

Seeking forgivness,

but finding no hope,

Small orange container,

now trying to cope.

 

Give me death,

or give me choice,

Take my life,

a long lost voice.

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

poem on suicide. And yes, I did mean intimation.

Reviews

[Kyle]

I like how this grabs your readers attention and keeps it. (you seem good at that)

The pic and the words (and font) seem very appropriate.

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

this happens...but never give in to Yama...
write now about the flowers and the bees and the tree-house in the trees

[GTVile]

I like it. I think you could have consolidated the rhythm though, since it rhymes, and it would be even more powerful. It would greatly enhance the flow, driving the point home with ferocity. Otherwise, a very good piece and can easily stand on its own as is.

[Tony]

Gripping narrative from the voice of troubled heart.
"Give me death, or give me choice" like this twist here.
Very life like in it's essense-- chilling words.

[roarke]

There's an old saying, "Life is short, death long. Choose Life."
the other side of it is that living one's life is a long process. Things do not happen like we constantly see on t.v. etc. What happens in real life is supposed to take a long time, to learn, explore, create, and understand.
That's why creating, writing, art, music, invention, experimentation, are worth getting your thoughts, actions, and dreams immersed in. Moving those talents forward slowly, experiencing them makes the living last longer. It's what builds upon what you have, what you've been given. Living your life to it's fullest makes it seem short, the old saying, "My how time flies when you're having fun." comic I know, but think about it. In death, you don't create, don't explore, don't live. That's why it's "long." There's no light, no joy of discovery, no warmth of creation. Death is an end, not a release, just an end.

The poem is well done. Not my cup of tea, we all have a choice as to how we create with words. Choose wisely.

[Dream Weaver]

Strongly recognized, suicide be it teen or adult
is a touchy subject in the minds of many. Your
perfect description goes deep inside those
distressing thoughts…well done …..