The Suicide


I’ll rewrite myself,

Carefully, and not too early this time.

I’ll throw myself in the water;

I’ll scatter my skin across the snow;

I’ll light my bones on fire.


Is there a word for when you go to

Write a letter to yourself,

And the envelope is filled with blood?


I’ll need it.



I feel like disassembling myself,

Like ripping off my skin

So I can diagnose the exact problem.

I feel like pulling my teeth out of my skull,

One by one;

I feel like untangling my leaky veins,

Like breaking bones to dislodge

Whatever is in my marrow,

Like unravelling my rib cage until

There’s nothing there



I swear,

There’s a piece of me that’s broken.


Is there a word for when you go to bed,

But you can’t fall asleep because

The skies, the stars, and the moon are all

Stealing away your breath?


I’ll need it.


I’m going to clear out my mouth:

The graveyard of unspoken words under my tongue,

The broken glass glued to the roof,

The fake smile plastered to my lips like a dead flower,

The heartbreaks on my molars.


Is there a word for when you

Count your baby teeth like flower petals,

And can’t determine whether or not you love yourself?


I had it…


I’ll rewrite myself,


And when the time comes,

When the metamorphosis is complete,

And I’m no longer a day without tomorrow…


I’ll burn all the old pages.

Unsent love poems and all,

Bruised journal entries and all.


And I’ll finally admit to myself,

With an underwater voice:

“You’ve ruined me.

I’ve ruined me.”


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