Suicidal poetry

[Ambivalent1]

I hate this world.
The universe became Hell as soon as it was unfurled.
Schopenhauer pointed out that suffering is the norm and the good times are the exception.
Those who experience the reverse are enjoying the fruits of natural selection.
Born to die just as birds are born to fly.
The good attained is quickly written over in rapid succession.
We're all headed toward the cliff in continual procession.
If Earth had a door, it'd say, "Abandon all hope ye who enter."
To be against the pro-life agenda is to be classed among the dissenters.
To come undone cellularly is the greatest ambition.
To advocate for this view publicly is to admit that you have some sorta condition.
To be on this site is to be free of the psychological trap that we must all continuously adapt to our circumstances, as if to say so is a matter of fact.

 

[Ambivalent1]

@Forever Sleep my poem is too advanced for the people here. I wish people read more and had larger vocabularies. Living amongst the book-averse is enough reason to ctb.

 

[LoiteringClouds]

I hate this world.

I hate it so much as well.
The earth is a total hell.
Every day is a scorcher -
It's very twisted torture!

I'm like a bird who can't fly -
I could do nothing but cry.
But here I have had a voice -
CTB'ing can be our choice!

I wish people read more and had larger vocabularies.

Though I often write in verse,
I'm one of the book-averse.
Now I feel inadequate -
I have to self-educate.

Thank you for posting your rhyme.
The clock chime - it's your showtime.
I can't miss you on stage -
Who perform in a small cage!

 

[Forever Sleep]

@Forever Sleep my poem is too advanced for the people here. I wish people read more and had larger vocabularies. Living amongst the book-averse is enough reason to ctb.

Have you considered joining book clubs? Things like that to find like minded people?

 

[Linda]

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Well, that was Macbeth's take on life. After he had managed to get himself made king, by murdering King Duncan, he eventually came to see the futility of it all. (Lady Macbeth, who had pushed him into murdering Duncan, didn't fare much better.)

 

[Ambivalent1]

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Well, that was Macbeth's take on life. After he had managed to get himself made king, by murdering King Duncan, he eventually came to see the futility of it all. (Lady Macbeth, who had pushed him into murdering Duncan, didn't fare much better.)

Which of Shakespeare's plays are accessible? They seem so difficult

 

[Linda]

Which of Shakespeare's plays are accessible? They seem so difficult

I studied Macbeth, and several other of Shakespeare's plays, at school in the 1960s. Once I had got used to the style, and the slightly old-fashioned language, I didn't find them difficult for the most part, though it did help that I had a very good teacher. You could probably cope with Macbeth if you made a little effort. (It's one of his shorter plays.)

 

[permanently tired]

I am afraid that I won't remember
How to laugh, smile or cry
How will I know, if these are empty tears
I am afraid, that one day I won't find you here beside myself

Am I alone, in this void of loneliness
I miss those days, when we didn't know what it meant to break

Time struck again
The match burnt out
He stood leisurely as we were ablaze
I watched you fall through a fiery haze
With every touch, ash falls from these blackened hands

Is this the hand of fate
Columns are crumbling down
I hold myself tight, a stroke of grace
I flash a smile at its flaming brilliance
A blessed inferno awaits

I wrote this as a response to Dante's inferno. I never actually read it, but it's about the different layers of hell and punishment that awaits people. iirc the seventh layer is for people who commit suicide. There's also inner and outer layers to the levels, but I'm unfamiliar with the nuances.