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Has anyone ever been to hell…and lived to tell of it?
I have. I’ve been there. Everyday.
When I wake up,
When I turn the lights out
I’m there.
I’m there every time I take a breath…or a step…or when my blood pulsates.
I’m always there.
In cased you haven’t guessed
My world is hell.
I can’t trust or feel.
It’s forbidden.
For either of those are gluttons for pain.
It’s hard to live when you wish you could die.
Not temporarily,
But all the time.
When it’s all you think about.
Day or night, awake or asleep.
That’s when it’s hard to live.
Trust me, I know.
I’ve plotted ways to end it all but found they bring too much pain.
Physical pain.
But if I choose not to, that’s pain.
Mental pain.
I wonder which is worse.
I decide physical pain is as small as an ant compared to what I feel inside.
What to do?
When to do it?
Life’s not worth living when the only reason you’re living is because you haven’t died yet.
It’s hard having no one to talk to.
Sure…there’s friends and family,
But they don’t and won’t understand.
It’s hard when the only people you can talk to are far away.
Really far away.
It’s hard when your parents won’t let you talk to…the only people you can talk to.
It’s hard to be alone and wish you were with someone.
It’s hard to be with someone and wish you were alone.
I’m tired of faking smiles.
I’m tired of faking happiness when all I feel is pain.
I’m tired of showing sunshine when all I feel is rain beating down on my head and penetrating into my skull.
One day soon, all my fathomed plans
Will be reality.
I feel I should tell someone
But no…
They say slavery’s over.
I don’t believe that.
I’m still a slave.
A slave to the world.
I wonder…if I die, will they miss me?
How could they?
All I ever do is make things harder.
Or so they seem to say.
…What if you woke up one day and you were just like me?
How would you handle it?
Would you jump? Fake? Cut? Or would you write?
Would you tell?
I wrote a story once…about this…about me.
It started out like this…
Has anyone ever been to hell…and lived to tell of it?
I have. I’ve been there. Everyday.

Electrix

Try taking this poem and turning it into a short commentary, I think you'll find it transcribes quite easily, and could become a saleable piece for a number of youth-oriented or even parental-oriented publications.

What exactly do you mean by 'short commentary'

[color=\"green\"]nooooooooo idea /blum.gif">http://www.killanet.net/forum3/public/style_emoticons//blum.gif\' class=\'bbc_emoticon\' alt=\':P\' />

nice work though /good.gif">http://www.killanet.net/forum3/public/style_emoticons//good.gif\' class=\'bbc_emoticon\' alt=\'(Y)\' /> ..you write similar to me http://www.killanet.net/forum3/public/style_emoticons//smile.gif\' class=\'bbc_emoticon\' alt=\':)\' />[/color]

Take what you've written and expand the thoughts bit; round out the shorter sentences. I'm not saying that as a poem it's not good, because it is; you've made some clear, powerful statements; now take those statements, and make them a commentary on the state of what more and more youth seem to be feeling. Written from either the first or third person, it will be a strong piece.

[i]* takes ada's advice, ill see what turns out of it...[/i]