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Poem

"2:43AM: MONDAY"


there’s nothing to see here.
move it along.
last night I cried but no one 
heard it.
I walked into my living room, 
opened my record player and 
played Verdi. 
I was considering suicide. 
I played it as loud as I 
could but I could still hear 
myself die. 
that’s the thing about 
suicide: it only matters if 
someone cares. 
but no one cares. 
my woman is gone and 
everything is razor blades 
floating in the sky. 
”you’re too skinny,” she 
said, “when we get back on 
our regular routine, I’m 
gonna fatten you up.” 
suicide and silence start 
with an “s”. 
as I walk on dead leaves 
under the sun and wait for 
lady death, my woman is 
happiest without me. 
in suicide, there is silence. 
she has asked me to stop 
talking. 
I still might be able to make 
her the happiest woman on 
earth.


By: Chicano Eddie

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