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Posted: Sat Nov 19, 2011 12:38 pm
Bout a friend who commited suicided
I want you to imagine A young spavined boy He was your heart and joy Five foot ten With a mess of blonde on his head He was lanky with blue eyes He loved football And the chilly Autumn fall He was soft-spoken; quite But was polite with a lot to say He did it rarely but he did it with grace He played bass guitar played it like a rockstar He played fair And worked even harder He kept his promises and did his dares He lived his life With a smile on his face This was a disguise No one could tell he truly felt like a disgrace
He was Your friend, Your brother, Your Son, Your lover, He brightened every room he walked into Yet no one could see his slow descent Or what he was going through
What was under his skin? He cared about everyone else more He took care of his fellow kin Maybe he felt ignored; couldn't take it anymore This is where the story begins And Where the dream ends
On a morning not un-like to day He just couldn't stand the fray He had the idea and put it into play He had what he needed he couldn't take it anymore This was his last resort in a state of desperation He could feel the reverberation in his chest He had a revelation... His dad had the guns in the basement He tore through the hall way And almost tripped on his shoelace He fumbled to grab hold of the gun He finally found a bullet And loaded one, this was his punishment He ran up the stairs He was a desperate man in disrepair He rushed passed his floor Slammed open the shower door He felt the cold barrel against his head He was about to face his fear He said a prayer and cried a tear He was sorry for his burden He shivered as he said his last words He struggled to keep his finger on the trigger He broke down but soon re-gained composure He pulled the trigger And blood scattered across the curtain...
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 4:20 pm
Your choice of detachment from the poem/and the character is an interesting choice. The way you wrote it almost seems like you are reporting the news of the day, but because of that it makes the poem that much deeper and sorrowful. Excellent work, but I'm sorry it has to come at such a price. My condolences to you and your friend's family.
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