There’s something in my closet,
that you wouldn’t find in most.
In it is a sleek black rope,
that’s hanging from a post.
In the rope there is a knot,
tying off a loop, sturdy and strong.
I slip it around my neck,
because my life has all gone wrong.
I lift my feet up off the ground,
and I struggle in midair.
I think about my life,
and how it’s caused me much despair.
I think about the pain,
both in my head and out.
as the rope constricts my breath,
not even enough to shout.
I hang there, twirling,
like that ride with the spinning cup.
As I begin to lose my consciousness,
my body’s forced to just stand up.
I try and try again,
but whenever my vision starts to fade,
my survival instincts take over.
Can’t hang myself. It’s how I’m made.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i am so glad that you failed '' hanging '' yourself.. lol, ha ha ha! !