Monday 10/02/2006 12:33:00 AM

I buttoned the cuffs on that suicide. Put on a new blazer. And began planning the next. I've never been naked except for when I tried to live. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. Standing still. Waiting for the kiss of the bullet.

It wasn't sharp enough then. In that hollow room. Sparked with broken baths. And forgotten sex.

The paper puling itself from labored walls in a futile protest. I turned off the light, but it still wasn't dark enough. To cut that deep.

Make love to the razor. Convince it to penetrate.

Crawl into that dirty tub and let those thoughtless walls decide if it mattered. Run the water until it's deep enough. Shallow puddles at the edges of the porcelain tempting my drowning.

I wished that I was lost enough. To find the vein. Hurt enough to prove it wrong.

That dying wasn't something I had tried to do. But something they had done to me.

And every button had an address Where I could find it when I was strong enough to try again.

This suicide they sometimes refer to as life.

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