Suicidal
This is not for those with weak stomachs.
She pulls out her teeth
One by one
Feeling no grief
Just a job to be done
Alone in her flat
Supported by a wall
A malnourished cat
Together they crawl
Starved for a feeling
More stout than despair
Nothing to bring
Not a soul to care
An irritable guard
Positioned outside
A cushion of lard
Softens his hide
He dares not glance
When she passes by
Fixed in a stance
She wants him to pry
But she knows he won't
He just doesn't care
Most people don't
Even those that stare
So there she remains
Two floors above
Bound by chains
Rejected by love
A rope, she places
With a Birdseye view
Staring dead at their faces
Her lips are blue
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2016
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