Suicide
It made you feel good, emptied
Of emotional weight. You lay against
The enamel, water up to your waist
And of course the blade.
You wanted to make it special. Scented
Candles and the blinds pulled up.
You could see the sun, rough like a tangerine.
Crowded by the sky, you felt its pain.
You let the blade kiss your flesh, a jagged tear
It was strong like leather, some sort of mesh.
The water turned pink, left a tidemark
Round the tub. He said he’d leave you,
In a weighted breath, you uttered ‘Good luck.’
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