Thoughts Of Suicide Poem by Mark Lowe

On days that l'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. l'm lost in a vast ocean,
Barely swimming.
In my closet, upon the shelf, lies a belt
In which I hang myself.