Suicide Poems | Poems about Suicide and Depression

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    An Almost Made Up Poem Poem by Charles Bukowski

    I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
    blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
    they are small, and the fountain is in France
    where you wrote me that last letter and
    I answered and never heard from you again.
    you used to write insane poems about
    ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
    knew famous artists and most of them
    were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
    go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
    because we’ never met. we got close once in
    New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
    touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
    about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
    is that the famous are worried about
    their fame – not the beautiful young girl in bed
    with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
    in the morning to write upper case poems about
    ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
    us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
    it was the upper case. you were one of the
    best female poets and I told the publishers,
    editors, ‘ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
    magic. there’ no lie in her fire.’ I loved you
    like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
    writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
    loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
    cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
    but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
    your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
    lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
    you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
    the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
    bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
    hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
    heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
    3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
    I would probably have been unfair to you or you
    to me. it was best like this.

     

     

    Suicide’s Note Poem by Langston Hughes

    The calm,
    Cool face of the river
    Asked me for a kiss.

     

     

    Suicide In The Trenches Poem by Siegfried Sassoon

    I knew a simple soldier boy
    Who grinned at life in empty joy,
    Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
    And whistled early with the lark.

    In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
    With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
    He put a bullet through his brain.
    No one spoke of him again.

    You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
    Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
    Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
    The hell where youth and laughter go.

     

     

    Suicide In The Trenches Poem by Siegfried Sassoon

    I knew a simple soldier boy
    Who grinned at life in empty joy,
    Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
    And whistled early with the lark.

    In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
    With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
    He put a bullet through his brain.
    No one spoke of him again.

    You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
    Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
    Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
    The hell where youth and laughter go.

     

     

    The Suicide’s Argument Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no
    No question was asked me–it could not be so !
    If the life was the question, a thing sent to try
    And to live on be YES; what can NO be ? to die.

    NATURE’S ANSWER

    Is’t returned, as ’twas sent ? Is’t no worse for the wear ?
    Think first, what you ARE ! Call to mind what you WERE !
    I gave you innocence, I gave you hope,
    Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope,
    Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair ?
    Make out the invent’ry ; inspect, compare !
    Then die–if die you dare !

     

     

    Yes Yes Poem by Charles Bukowski

    when God created love he didn’t help most
    when God created dogs He didn’t help dogs
    when God created plants that was average
    when God created hate we had a standard utility
    when God created me He created me
    when God created the monkey He was asleep
    when He created the giraffe He was drunk
    when He created narcotics He was high
    and when He created suicide He was low

    when He created you lying in bed
    He knew what He was doing
    He was drunk and He was high
    and He created the mountians and the sea and fire at the same time

    He made some mistakes
    but when He created you lying in bed
    He came all over His Blessed Universe.

     

     

    Death Poem by Brandi Young

    Death is forever
    So don’t flirt with suicide

    Death is painful
    Stay away from knives

    Death is not for lovers
    So don’t lie

    Death is not for me
    So don’t even try

    Death is clever
    So be careful

    Death is never fun
    Stay away from strangers

    Death is never pleasing
    So don’t get caught up in the hype

    Death is never fair
    So get use to it

    Death is always occurring
    So don’t ignore it

    Death is never what you expected
    Sorry but it has to happen

    Death is not for you
    Please don’t give up

    Death is forever
    Don’t forget it

     

     

    Call It A Good Marriage Poem by Robert Graves

    Call it a good marriage –
    For no one ever questioned
    Her warmth, his masculinity,
    Their interlocking views;
    Except one stray graphologist
    Who frowned in speculation
    At her h’s and her s’s,
    His p’s and w’s.

    Though few would still subscribe
    To the monogamic axiom
    That strife below the hip-bones
    Need not estrange the heart,
    Call it a good marriage:
    More drew those two together,
    Despite a lack of children,
    Than pulled them apart.

    Call it a good marriage:
    They never fought in public,
    They acted circumspectly
    And faced the world with pride;
    Thus the hazards of their love-bed
    Were none of our damned business –
    Till as jurymen we sat on
    Two deaths by suicide.

     

     

    Suicide. Poem by Lisa French

    Suicide, suicide
    Your presence is near
    Suicide, suicide
    I wish you were here
    Suicide, suicide
    Take me away
    Suicide, suicide
    Please make it today
    Suicide, suicide
    An answer, for me
    Suicide, suicide
    I need to escape, be free
    Suicide, suicide
    I’ve had too much
    Suicide, suicide
    Take me, do your touch
    Suicide, suicide
    Leave the rest behind
    Suicide, suicide
    You’re all over my mind
    Suicide, suicide
    Let me pass in peace
    Suicide, suicide
    I need to release

     

     

    Whats The Use Of A Title? Poem by Charles Bukowski

    They don’t make it
    the beautiful die in flame-
    suicide pills, rat poison, rope what-
    ever…
    they rip their arms off,
    throw themselves out of windows,
    they pull their eyes out of the sockets,
    reject love
    reject hate
    reject, reject.

    they don’t make it
    the beautiful can’t endure,
    they are butterflies
    they are doves
    they are sparrows,
    they don’t make it.

    one tall shot of flame
    while the old men play checkers in the park
    one flame, one good flame
    while the old men play checkers in the park
    in the sun.

    the beautiful are found in the edge of a room
    crumpled into spiders and needles and silence
    and we can never understand why they
    left, they were so
    beautiful.

    they don’t make it,
    the beautiful die young
    and leave the ugly to their ugly lives.

    lovely and brilliant: life and suicide and death
    as the old men play checkers in the sun
    in the park.