Archive for dying


Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , on December 19, 2013 by Myra's Circle

I’m sorry I didn’t think to be,
All that you ever wanted from me,
I’m sorry for ruining you,
More than I could have a clue.

I’m sorry for making you cry,
And sorry if you wanna know why,
I’ve lost too much, been stretched too far,
It can’t be erased by a single scar.

I’m sorry for causing so much pain,
I’m sorry I went so utterly insane,
I’m sorry, okay, that’s all I can say,
But it won’t keep the demons away.

You told me to fight, you told me to kill,
Those demons inside with all my will,
So I took the gun, and took the pill,
And sent those demons over the hill.

I’m dying, slowly, when will it end?
On the rope and the fan, or the railway bend?
I’m sorry I had to be here,
I wasn’t meant to be, that’s clear.

So here’s my ending, my demise,
Gone before the sun will rise,
You’ll wake up, and then you’ll cry,
And then you may greatly wonder why.

The end is soon, the end is near,
I’m sorry that it’s already here,
So hear me out, hear my voice,
I’m sorry I didn’t have a choice.

The Grievances of Earth

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 24, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Sometimes I think of dying,
Of how awful it must be,
But then I think of the world’s sorrows
That I no longer wish to see.

The sadnesses of murder
Of rape, abuse and more,
The hunger in a child’s eyes,
The grieving of the poor

I see darkness and death,
And evils clear as day’s light,
I see hatred and disgust,
Not much worth the fight.

I think of depression,
That deep, dark cave,
A loneliness from which,
No one can be saved.

I think of tears cried on dead men’s graves,
Soldiers in a war,
The cold hard eyes of battle,
Those who lie on death’s door.

Violence unlike any other,
Killed because religion, race,
Beliefs, and colour,
People who won’t look past a face.

I think of all these terrible things,
The events that fall,
And then I think that dying,
Might not be so bad after all.

Just let me die

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 9, 2013 by Myra's Circle

You act like I am perfect,
The perfect, little girl,
You say that every chance you get,
It kind of makes me wanna hurl.

You make me hurt even more inside,
Through the little things you say,
Compliments, things not worth my while,
And you wonder why I cannot stay.

What would you do if I died tomorrow,
Would you grieve forever?
Would you live in sadness and sorrow?
Or would you think of me never?

I know for sure that you must hate me,
With every fiber of your being,
But with all this sadness, how can I be,
Sure of anything really?

I don’t deserve your pity,
I don’t deserve compassion,
Just let me die in this quiet city,
Just in my dying passion.

Little Girl, Why do you hate yourself?

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Little girl,

Why do you smile even though you’re crying?
And pretend you’re OK, when inside you are dying?
Why do you wish that you were something else?
Why do you always hide the pain you’ve felt?

Why do you laugh at things that hurt you inside?
Why do you cover all the tears you have cried?
Why do you hate yourself, and why cause yourself such harm?
Why do you always pretend to be so calm?

Your Smallest of Small

Posted in Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 13, 2013 by Myra's Circle

I am dead,

and I am dying,

I am sad,

but I’m not crying,

I am lost

and I don’t know,

Where I am

Or where to go,

I have a life,

But I’m not living,

I have possessions,

But I’m not giving,

I am everything,

Or nothing at all,

I am YOU,

I am your smallest of small.

A Prayer for all the Broken Hearts

Posted in Poems, Prayers with tags , , , , , , , , on December 15, 2012 by Myra's Circle

I pray for the cruelly slaughtered,

The sad hearts in the aftermath,

The once bright futures destroyed.

I pray for the life to be that never was,

The lonely souls that were left behind,

The once perfect hearts broken.

I pray for the dreams that have been lost,

The memories of someone who was little but great,

The futures that were taken from us.

I pray for the minds that have been killed,

The seamless dreams that were destroyed,

The love of many lost loved ones.

I extend this prayer to all the lonely people, the dead, the dying, and those who suffer because of it, especially the children at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut.  May their souls rest in peace, and may the burden less on their families.

Myra M.

My Words will only Be Blown Away

Posted in Angry Poems, Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 12, 2012 by Myra's Circle

Blown away by the breeze,

Just words,

Sweet words,

Lovely words.

Carried away on cold shoulders,

No words,

Sad words,

Silent words.

Taken away by tears,

Choked words,

Lost words,

Dying words.

Destroyed by one’s own loneliness,

Screamed words,

Cried words,

Dangerous words.

Lost in an abyss of wonder,

Lied words,

Sighed words,

Thoughtless words.

Ruined by death’s last wish,

Dead words,

Dull words,

Scary words.

Attacked by anger’s first touch,

Scarred words,

Marred words,

Wasted words.

But these words,

Last words,

Daring words,

Will only be blown away.

A Trail of War

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2012 by Myra's Circle

Soldiers marched along the trail,

Feeling tireder by the minute,

They all looked a little pale,

Their pain infinite.

Soldiers marched never ending,

A war to go on forever,

Enemies never rending,

A war to stop, never.

A trail of war, a deadly place,

Soldiers’ faces white,

Not a race,

Oh, what a sight!

Everyone wants a piece,

Of the dying soldiers’ screams,

No one forgot at least,

Their sad lost dreams.

Lest we forget, you may say,

But that wasn’t entirely true,

For nobody forgot the day,

That soldiers marched with rue.

The Voices

Posted in Sad Stories, Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 13, 2012 by Myra's Circle


I open my eyes and find that I am running.  I can’t seem to grasp reality, my mind seems to be completely devoid of it.  Where am I running to?  The question floats around my head meaninglessly, and I feel confused.  Footsteps behind me.  Someone’s chasing me.  My body wants to slow down, feeling slow and tired, but my brain won’t let it.  Dizziness captures me.  I blink hard, to try and control the horrid feeling, but I can’t.  I collapse onto the ground, finished.  The voices in my head are screaming at me to keep running, but it’s physically impossible.  I can’t breathe.  My body refuses to move.  I gasp for air.  Tears spill over my lashes for what I think might be the last moment of my life.  “Please,” I beg, “Please don’t let this be the end of me.”  And those were my final words when the darkness enveloped me.


I woke in a strange white room.  Nothing seemed to fit into place, until one of the voices whispered, “It was a dream, nothing more.”  But that white room wasn’t mine.  The air seemed stale.  Another voice whispered the obvious.  It told me that I was in trouble.  I figured that out myself when an odd, hooded man crept in.  He seemed bizarrely out of place in the white room with his black cloak.  He drew closer and seemed to gesture for me to follow him.  I didn’t have much of a choice, so I followed.  I noticed he must have been carrying something under his cloak.  A weapon maybe?  He led me through passages that looked like they hadn’t been used for years.  There were cobwebs cowering in the corners and candelabras dimly lit the dark, enclosed space.  About halfway through the passage, I began to feel claustrophobic.  The walls seemed to be moving in towards me.  Tears threatened to spill, but the voices told me not to cry in front of this man.  When finally, we reached the end, I saw yet another dimly lit room.  It was hexagonal with the same eerie candelabras as in the corridors.  Besides its bizarre shape, there was a strange platform in the middle.  The man forced me onto it and drew out what looked like a whip.  My eyes widened in terror.  He was going to whip me to death.  The first lash was unexpected.  I stifled a cry.  Then the man spoke for the first time since he came into the white room.  “Menaces like you must be destroyed.  It isn’t normal for several people to share one body.”  I then understood his motives.  He was going to kill me because I was different, because I heard voices.  The whip lashed me again, and again, yet still I refused to cry.  It beat on me till blood spilled, and I thought I was going to faint.  I cried for mercy, yet he kept on whipping.  Tears finally spilled and I collapsed into a heap on the ground.  I sobbed and sobbed for the last few minutes of my life, and suddenly, desperately, I just wanted to die, wanted the pain to end.  I only had a little life left.  Just a few more seconds, a few more lashes.  I took my final breath and welcomed death in.  I gave up fighting and then darkness clamped over my exhausted mind.