Suicide

Sometimes sitting in empty rooms
A thought tickles me out,
Of dreams of grandeur.
A thought that,
What if I die now?
Right now I leave this world of materialistic shit,
And this soul of worthless grit.

How would the metal knife
Lying beside me,
Feel inside my chest.
Will it treat my heart and soul?
Would it be painful or easing?
I wonder.

What happens once I am dead?
Will I be born again?
Or I will reside with the rain,
Up above the world so high,
In the clouds, out of sight.

In between this beautiful fantasy
And the horrifying reality.
What would you chose
Life or Death?
Live or die,
Suicide.

My mother enters the room
With a glass of milk.
Clearing my stupid gloom,
Shaking me out of my suicidal dream,
And then we hear a Scream.

The boy next door hanged himself,
Seeing the grief in his mother’s eyes
I thought what if I had done this to myself
My mind ideated my mother’s cries.

Shuddering in fear
I left their house.
I asked my mom, am I dear?
She said no;
You are the dearest.
She kissed my forehead
And lullaby me to sleep.

Lying in my bed
In the silence of mid-night
I keep my hand on my chest
To feel the beating heart.
Happy I am, that I am alive,
That I didn’t commit suicide.