SUICIDLE

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  • Death

    SUICIDLE
    i ran home to cry on my bed
    not a word to you was said
    cuz you came home late at night

    you looked at me from left to right
    you saw me hanging from a rope
    you took your knife and cut me down
    on my clothes a note was found

    dig my grave
    dig it deep

    dig my grave
    from head to feet

    and on top put a dove
    and show the world i died
    for your love

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    pandy’s Poems (7)

    Title Comments Submitted
    Title Comments Submitted
    AFECT MY THOUGH'S 1 01/08/2009
    LOVE IS PAIN 0 01/08/2009
    someday 0 01/08/2009
    FEELING & PAIN 0 01/08/2009
    MY PAIN 0 01/08/2009
    I NEVER 0 01/08/2009
    SUICIDLE 1 01/08/2009
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