8th Annual Poems About Suicide Month

[TranquillityBase]

Is suicide is a virgin
we yearn to deflower
who advertises surrender
and promises no pain
or really a whore
whose price is despair
and only guarantees
a hollow nothingness
instead of Edenic relief?
This question keeps me
living in spite of sorrows
I cultivate each day
as the sun beats me down
and night returns
its only crop, another sunrise
and a melancholy harvest.
I dream I can see truth
broadcast from her eyes
but I’ve been tricked
so many times by sadness
it’s hard to know why
I would believe in her
and not the proud endurance
of final desolation.
Not knowing the one
or the other is a death
all its own.  So I turn away
until the endless tomorrow.