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The Suicide

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Small dark hours with a bitter moon buffed by the smudgy clouds
till it gleams with resentment.
I dress in a shroud.  Despair
laced with a little glee.
Leave it to me.

Never never never
never enough.
The horrid smiling mouths
pout on the wallpaper.  Kisses
on a collar.  Lies.  Blood.
My body is a blank page I will write on.

Famous.

Nobody drinks with their whole face.
I do.
Nobody's ears are confessionals.
Mine are.
Eyes in the glass like squids.  Sexy.

I get out the knives.  Who wants
a bloody valentine pumping its love hate love?
Utterly selfless
I lie back under the lightbulb.
Something like a cat claws from my head, spiteful.

Fuck off.
Worship.

This will kill my folks.