Poison

One single poison,
that scars your mind.
One single poison,
that cuts your shoulder,
that burns your wrists.
One single poison,
that makes you cry,
that makes you sad,
that takes the one you loved away,
One single poison,
that your past gave,
that your present gives,
that your past prepares,
that you are forced to take.
One single poison,
that makes a noose,
that loads a gun,
that pulls a trigger,
that blows you up,
That makes you swing,
the one I called Depression.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Gun is a bad idea. Too many bones. Poison can be spit out. Body protect itself automatic. Knife is very good. But it is very painful way to go. There is a book on suicide. Plastic bag with strength. But I have seen and known suicide. It isn't good way. Better to hang around and torture people. A excellent poem.
Coyote