Suicide
I was sick in my normal way
passing the time
passing the day
meandering and calling it creativity
as if a mountain stream could be
creative
as if an avalanche could be
creative
and my monster was behind the fence
slashing and gnashing his teeth
claws ripping at the wood, rabid
splinters of bone and wood and blood
and the foam from my monsters
ferocity
flew flavors of violence and silence
was murdered after it’s start
my heart thick in my chest
pit dark and damp
meandering is slandering and pandering
with hopes to bring the prize
the cries of sacred lies
look to share the rooms of familiar eyes
and I would call it suicide
now. And then too, only I didn’t know it
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