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.’