Poetry About Dying Young Novels & Stories

I went about my chores today silently as these were going to be the last. I want to fall off the cliff, I want to feel this pain no more, I want to be buried in my own world. But suicide isn't the best option now…. I know if I die young I wouldn't be buried in satin, neither would I be laid on a bed of roses, none to sink me in the river at dawn, none to send me away with the words of a love song. And as everyone retired to sleep, I left. That was it.

“I had a brother, but he’s gone.” “I’m sorry,” he said softly, and I could hear the honesty in his words. It’s like he connected with it somehow. He had no idea of the circumstances and hardly knew me, yet he sympathized with something that had obviously caused me pain. I shrugged and repeated his earlier words. “We all die.” “We need to get out of this dark slump,” he hollered as he ran his hand through his hair and shook it into a messy, yet perfect display around his face.

He rubbed at his temple, wincing as the dull throb at the base of his skull returned—stronger this time. He hated that pain. It was the only thing lately that reminded him he was still alive. Nathan stood, moving toward the window. The city glittered below—bright, noisy, full of life he couldn’t feel. Neon lights painted his reflection across the glass: tousled hair, tired eyes, perfection sculpted by fame but filled by exhaustion. He tapped his cigarette against the railing, watching the ashes scatter like snow. “Another night,” he murmured, “another stranger.” His phone buzzed on the table. A message from his manager:

He raised his glass. "To the deadies who refuse to stay dead. May you survive what's coming. Or at least die spectacularly." We raised our glasses. "To survival."

But I would question that later. “I won’t give up or run. Can you feel my shadows creeping up on you? You don’t belong here, get out. Your last breath comes today! Then it’s burned into your soul, you’ll die every time you close your eyes. There’s never peace! Take this back, leave us now! Take yourself away while you’re still alive! The only way you will survive is if I die. Soon you’re the one who’s drowning in your regrets. You are lost and you’ll never find your home.”

He sat feeling uncomfortable, he wondered what Sarah was up to. "Ryan, Incase I die, do not weep by my grave." "How...like what do you mean?" He looked at her perplexed. "Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I kept growling and crying out loud till i watched the wench leave my house like a leper. The pain I had been feeling for years is spreading now like a cancer, to consume me when it becomes an overflow in my soul. Each passing day wasn't getting any better. My life is on the edge and it's so hellish a feeling to know that your death is pretty imminent and to know that you're going to die in the worst of all ways. Dying in the face of someone who is supposed to protect you, someone who is supposed to love you but instead, the view of you dying gives them so much mirth.

With that we talked through the night . There are times that you would close your eyes, Those special memories of me will always bring back a smile, Calling my number repeatedly but with no response , If only you could have me back for just a little while you would say ,When I fade like the shadow of moon or like the whispers of the sea, The times of pain and the days of sorrow ,Miss me a little but not too long ,I want no cries, why cry for a soul gone to a better place, a home built with gold ,The time when living feels like dying ,Miss me but let me go , When I come to the end of the road and the sun has set for me , Miss me but let me go , For this journey is one we all must take , Bury

Arrogance befit no man for whatever we have today, won’t be buried with us tomorrow. ~Humeyra. HAMDAN’S P.O.V The last messages I got from Humeyra really messed me up. I didn’t know that I meant so much to her that my death would affect her as much as she said. The poem she wrote to me still lingers in my mind as I recall my heart beating to every word that her poetry entailed. The poem goes as follows:

Day two thousand. Five and a half years. Two thousand mornings of gambling. Two thousand days of fighting. Two thousand midnights of forgetting. I'm dying. Not maybe. Not eventually. Now. Really. Visibly. I'm fifty-three. I look seventy. The stress aged me. The daily heartbreak. The constant battles. The endless uncertainty. My body is breaking. My mind is fracturing. My soul is exhausted. I'm dying. Soon. Maybe months. Maybe weeks. Maybe days.