The Suicide Bubble

There is a bubble, 

made of dark black coal,

made of mean, horrible things

and it swallows you whole.

 

You can't see the world around you,

or imagine the way things will be in a few days. 

All that matters is that you escape,

the fiery dark haze. 

 

Life becomes insignificant,

so small and so petty. 

Instead of crystal clear vision, 

your eyes become impaled with a machete.

 

No longer can you visualize, 

the long life that stretched endlessly ahead,

 filled with love and laughter,

and little children with bows on their head.

 

Instead, all that you can comprehend,

are the things your self-concious nastily spits.

You're ugly, it says, and nobody wants you.

And you fall, deep into that limitless pit.

 

You then begin to grow weary,

and tired of the fight for your life.

Because nothing else matters, 

And you pick up the knife.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741