February 16, 2004

Suicidal confrontations.
Conflicts splitting the ends off like dyed hair.
Rings and bells, no grave to dig.
Bottle of pills, she said, will make the pain go away.
She swallowed the vodka and said goodnight, stumbling out the door,
her hips swaying pleasantly with the rhythm of the moon.
She stumbled down the steps and landed in oblivion.
she never came back.
Envious eyes all ’round the rooms.
touch the centre, feel a heat.
Cry the tears, acid burn trails.
fire held in the hands.
Hold me. tell me the world will end.

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