The look of contempt in my friend’s eye,
My love, now turned to hate,
That patronising, faked smile,
So afraid to even acknowledge me,
Not even as a friend of so many years,
A lover, and a good one,
But even just as a person, but no.
I feel the fires of my rage building
Hate flooding me,
Wonderful and terrible,
Of everyone and everything,
She’s not the problem, just the tip of the iceberg
What do I do?
To make it all go away,
Do I kill, and kill and kill?
Or give in
Take the final end,
And kill myself honourably,
If such a thing can be done,
And yet, the objections come to life,
The scorn and hatred poured on the selfish killer,
Could I bare what I do to my loved ones?
If anyone has ever loved me,
Is there ever is a fair way of doing it,
Who will morn for me?
You?
I stare out at my last sunset,
I realise its beauty,
And miss this life,
Then I sharpen my knife,
Prepare my poison, tighten my noose,
Yet there must be more than life than this,
One hopes,
So I plod on,
Regardless,
Maybe now is not the end, merely a new beginning,
What do you believe?
Truly really believe,
When it comes right down to it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem