No More.

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No More.

No more can I care,
For this torture, life,
No more can I bare,
Imagining my savior, a knife.

I tried to withstand,
But no more can I try,
Ignoring the betrayals at hand,
No more can I cry.

No guidance to seek,
My loved ones forgot me,
No faith to be weak,
Alone forever I shall be.

Unless I can escape,
This world, this inhumanity,
The violence, the rape,
This chaos and insanity.

So I tip over to freedom gate,
Leaving behind this body I hate,
With one shed tear, my soul goes,
Into the void, last memory the swing of my toes.

No more can I try,
No choice but to die.


I wrote poem when I was depressed, thought about suicide but the urge of writing took control of me instead, for the moment. Enjoy the poem, or mourn over it.
Previous Username: Toe



I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
— Markus Zusak, The Book Thief