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Blue Lips

by Typewriterwriter

Red puffy eyes,Damp cheeks,Shaking fingers.Uttering’s of silent stifled shrieksSighing,Chest pains.Keeping to myself,The color in my face drains.No more smiles,Dropping grades,Vanishing friendships.No hope from this gray haze.Long lost hopesNever soberSpilling blood,Little empty bottles all over.Blue lips.Cold skin.Dead bodyIn the den.
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mental healthdepressionsadnessemotions suicide awareness death

If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.

Typewriterwriter

I don't write about death because I want to die, I write about death because when death takes me I'd like to think that I am in the care of a wonderful friend. Writing is a language everyone can understand. Even when our words are confused and twisted, we find someone who translates perfectly. I speak for those who are scared and trapped and those whose voices have been stolen from them. God speaks through me and gives me strength to give to others. I will write until my end.

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