To Friends Who Have Also Considered Suicide

Smear of orange latte on a browning page

Looking into glassy brown lenses
Lit up in the pale cold sunlight
black lines, orbits        black tunnel

Into the mind —

Throbbing    as I stare,

faint pink veins      smudged down one corner
smudged up one smooth point

rays of January light reflect off the
crystalline brown surface       glistening alive

     dead can yet be deadder

Shattered and broken        laying askew
Lips bleeding a deep, internal, sickly blood
apart,   an inanimate whisper

a skull so chipped like china

fragmented and broken;
   thudded times fifty or thudded once
fifty times hard?

carving lifeless cheeks    soft plastic
molten off       and no more beautiful
or together

But those eyes glisten with life
The pupil contracts and catches light;

brimming ponderance,

motionless with madness

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Two A M

I’m a sliver of smooth cloth

snagged

between two rows of jagged identical teeth of a zip

a passenger in a thick fluffy parka

parked inside a car

packed between a door and a carseat; jammed

Clear rows of racing raindrops,   trailing

Instalike instashare instafood instadaily

craps and craps of pretentiousness xo

not one full open soul or heart or golden chain or red rose or glass slipper or

massive yellow cookbook by Wolfgang Puck

Wiping my nose for the fifteenth time on my white shirt and I

wipe
type

soft tap-tapping of fingertips on phone screen

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Tower Bridge at 2.00am. London, England. May 2014.

Eye Of The Lion

Soft    bright and blossoming
I’m listening to pickled red beets and peppery arugula
My toes are tingling
I’ve been whammed in the face with a mallet

I want to sleep   fly off;      he is laying somewhere on a white metal bed, wheezing into a plastic cup.

new brush strokes waved paper
ochre cream cobalt cadmium sienna
that small joyful giggle of the brush in water

He is laying somewhere on a white metal bed, wheezing into my dad’s ear

Swirls of the brush      water clouds, opaque clasped hands and whispers

trials and tests abound
but I keep painting, as he keeps laying and wheezing

I’m painting    the eye of the lion

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