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Suicide

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She
is a book with the ending ripped out
is a puzzle with pieces jammed in
misplaced
it is an ocean
where everything gets lost in the
vast depths
life comes and goes
like leaves
falling from an old oak tree

the medics tried to save her
but their human fingers held no magic
the holes from her hatred pierced
her delicate body
the anger was
smudged across her perfect complexion
frozen in place

she was just a ragdoll now
arms that used to grow strong
hang limp
weakly waving in the wind
like the oak tree snapped
and let the life slowly pour out
feeding the rest of the hungry world

another doctor
the alpha of his pack
found her diary
words scratched with the blood
from inside her heart
pictures drawn from the constellation
of scars scattered over her body

the only comment he made —
“when she jumped, she did not want to die
she simply thought she would fly”




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