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 Jan 2015 Ana Sweeney
Eli Smith
Before you fall in love with a suicidal girl
Don't.
Suicide can not be romanticized and though she might idolize you
Remember that you may not be enough.
Remember that this world may never be enough.
Demons don't just go away, sometimes they just hide in the shadows.
And even at the highest noon they are there. Just smaller. The sun will go down.
She will always have shadows.
Remember that no matter what you do
You are irrelevant in her master plan.
She will plan out her letters in your arms.
When she is silent hold her. Make her know that she is loved, it may not be enough but those few moments in your arms might make her think twice.
But don't assume for one second you will be her savior.
When you see cuts on her wrists do not beg her to stop.
She won't.
She will cut deeper for letting you see her weak.
She will try to be strong.
She will put on a show for you. She will make you forget she was ever depressed.
Remember that sunsets can make you forget that night is bound to follow.
Know that night will follow.
When you get her final love letter to you
Ignore the fact that it is stained in blood.
Do not pour your precious time.into wondering if she suffered.
She will write her apologies in her best handwriting.
Do not read it.
Get in your car and drive.
Drive to the nearest bar and read the letter through hazy bloodshot eyes.
Do not blame yourself.
Do not look for moments you could have done something different.
It'll drive you crazy.
Before you fall in love with a suicidal girl.
Don't.
 Jan 2015 Ana Sweeney
C S Cizek
I sit at a two-top by myself
by the bar. I draw on the back
of a bill with a cheap pen I found
clicked in a foam cup upstairs.
I draw flat cars, flat poles,
flat humans. I give them swirl
hair and no fists.
They are all alike.
The bartender comes over and tells
me that the bar is closed. I hold
my left hand up to him and draw
the sky. I fill it with carbon pink stars
and coffee nebulae. Saturn's rings
are made of cornbread crumbs.

I blow a straw paper comet across the galaxy.
I felt like my poems were becoming too much, syllable-wise, so I wrote this [mostly] mono-syllabic poem. I really dig it.
 Jan 2015 Ana Sweeney
Adam Burke
A poet told me to hurt myself.
So I told a woman I love her.
My sense of justice overthrown by my desire to live forever.
It was terrifying.

She told me that she loved me too.
So I kissed her without hesitation.
That kiss held my passion and lust, but not true love.
It wasn't right.

I told myself that it was worth it.
I cried briefly into her neck.
Don't make me talk about it, just bite me.
It was ******* fulfilling.

He told me that I need to bleed.
That this is how to be creative.
That everybody will kiss my scars.
And I'll finally be unhappy.

— The End —