Joining the Suicide Club

We have to buy our own black leather jackets, sharpen our words like switchblades. Poems are dangerous things. We shoot them up. Our tattoos read: beauty=truth. We die for it. Watch out for us. We will violate your daughters with our villanelles. We will turn the street wet with our deaths, for no one cares or reads these poems held at our heads. You call our bluffs, wave back at us from our bridges, our windows our ovens. We die, exploding these poems like seeds.