Death Poem

In a poetry group I used to be in we had to write a poem about our deaths. This was mine.

Silent cries of wild abandon

Smothered by bloody lips pressed together: 

Self-control or self-suppression? 

Every effort made in vain 

Feeds the bottomless void in my soul. 

Shove the words in my mouth- 

I’ll choke on self-assurance. 

Finding worth in the gratification of others, 

Purpose would be my salvation. 

Needed not; 

Left to rot,

I am my own desecration. 

Born in the briar-patch, 

It is there I die,

Cutting myself on the thorns for comfort. 

La Bella Muerte is what I seek, 

But no one will notice I'm dead.

Reviews

[terry smith]

...ah but the other poets would mourn your loss....nicely done ..esp....cutting myself on the thorns of comfort....nice!!

[Briana Noël Manzano]

thanks, Terry! I always appreciate your reviews :)

[terry smith]

you are very welcome:)