Michael Vincent’s

The Suicide Note

Behind these eyes are tears
These things you cannot see
Things that may never change
Things that may just have to be

No one knows what I’m going through
And this makes me realise my loneliness
But the more and more I think about it
The more and more I die

Dying seems to be the only way out
As there is probably no other way
Hoping will not work
I’ve tried that already
Because of all these things going on inside
Things that I might always have to hide

Friends and family, further away
Would they even understand if I told them?
Or would they laugh,
And walk away…

Can anyone help me?
Will anyone understand?
Will I be left here crying?
Not knowing when will be the end?

I sure hope not
Because there is so much more to live
Or at least that’s what they told me
When I asked for them to mend…

These bruises and cuts
That seem to lie around
They burn more and more with each passing day
And I’m not sure if they will ever heal

Some may think I live the perfect life
That, what I thought until I was five
I knew it would get much harder
Now I know what I said came too late

I look up at night and wonder if God is there
I pray to him for salvation
And for Him to end…

This pain and loneliness
That people put me through
The only sense I have
Is the sense of not knowing what to do

I count down the days
Until the day I have set
To change all that happened
How soon people will forget
What I have done
And how I have done it
Will you be there by my grave
Without any question?

Would you do those things to me?
Treat me the same way
If I told you all these things
That make me want to pray…

To the one God I love
So that he may end this
I don’t think anyone will judge
My pain and dying
I have thought of how I will do it
And if I should only just run…

Away from these problems
You know nothing about
The ones I still have,
Pain and loneliness
Are these only things that will keep time?

I wish this wasn’t the way
And that there was another way out
But the more and more I keep on crying
The more I find to write about
I wish I could stop now,
But there is so much more to tell

For I am not writing
But my mind is the thing,
That pours out all these memories
Onto the page
And it reminds me
Of how my life has been such an awful thing

Like a contract signed in blood
That you cannot get out of
The things you used to love
Are sometimes the things you will get sick of.