Slit my wrist-
push me off a cliff
and call out
Livings overrated leaves
you numb, and feeling jaded
though the sad fact is
that I would hardly know.
My veins stretch cross the sky now
found draped like lightening
flowing down, down
til-reaching open skull fill-filling up the brain exposed to wind and rain
the impact the trauma and shame.
Low in the sky my torso
it glides gracing the horizons
severed and true. The wounds that
it wears hidden by air
the sunshine it blesses pale skin.
The scars light hides
as the shadow inside keeps watch behind darting eyes.
Body displaced behind currants of shame my life just a script
for the play.
No one will watch it, but
praise what they gain from the scene-not real.
Kill me so softly, brutal and wanting
leave me to die as I’ve lived.