Suicide, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

SuicideLe Suicide, Edouard Manet (1877)

Suicide

Is true to what I have really done
Desire to rid myself of misery
Lying here still bleeding holding a gun
In death thinking I’d be totally free

There is torture in the time that remains
Bed continues to hold her luscious scent
My sick heart shackled in her mighty chains
Absent her savage kiss I now lament

I’m afraid now to close these heavy eyes
In her full beauty she shall reappear
Knowing she is the devil in disguise
To guide me straight to hell is what I fear

It is love that caused the hellish nightmare
And life only comes with a one way fare

Published by

bobsieczkiewicz

Husband, Father, Grandfather, Lover of all beautiful things. I love to read and write poetry. My favorite hangouts are libraries and museums and yet I love being outdoors. I am a dreamer of things that could be.

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