Her Suicide Poem by Brianna Wilshusen

She couldn't handle the pain
Couldn't handle no love.
She had no angels,
Watching her from above.

Just a fifteen year old girl,
With no hope ahead.
So she cut her wrists,
and watched as they bleed.

It hurt so badly,
Yet felt so good.
She was the only one,
Who truely understood.

The lies that surrounded her,
Her parents never there
Her two-faced friends,
Nobody seemed to care.

Living this life,
She could no longer bare.
She hung herself,
As her feet dangled.

Her face turned blue,
The rest of her white.
The cuts on her wrist's,
What an awful site.

She had nothing to gain,
And nothing to lose.
She was hurt emotionally,
Hatred and bruised.

She felt hopeless,
In never ending pain.
She had so many people,
For this who she blamed.

So on this night,
She did herself a favor,
When she cut herself
with her razor.

She then went all the way,
And slowly she left.
She chose not to live,
And turned to death.

This is all that happened,
Everything I just wrote.
I know this because,
This might someday be her suicide note.


(this is a true poem b/c the girl is me. A friend was worried for me and wrote it hoping it'd make me see reason. I don't think it is gunna work. We'll see.)