My Suicide Poem Poem by Mark Lowe

On days that I'm down, my sight goes gray.
I'm not religious, so there's no need to pray.

In my strife, I grab my knife and the despair
Briefly goes away.

The loneliness and hopelessness know no bounds,
To most I imagine that feeling confounds.

Through therapy and meds,
The depression is winning.
I'm lost in a vast ocean,
Barely swimming.

In my closet, upon the shelf, lies a belt
In which I hang myself.