http://www.mentanoia.org/suicide/index.html
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Would the red line be pretty,
like a bracelet, the droplets like fat charms dangling? Scarlet pearls?
Is this an occasion of festivity to dress for?
Would the red line be angry,
like a leviathan's swift thick ink, expanding, billowing in warm waters dark.
Is this my way to blind you? Stain?
Or is the red line merely sad,
as i am sad,
as sad as the sorrow of Mary, the gash in her heart where all the world's pain hides.
Weeping.
Why didn't she draw a red line?
And why can't i
cry the color that i feel
as pretty, angry, sad as Her Boy did. . .
Minus the knife.
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These secret bleedings. . .
Pandora's last evil
Bruises internal.
Hope shatters us,
It's glass,
Till we ask is the image
Distortion or real?
We who
(whisper)
The silences-- entrapped.
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http://www.mentanoia.org/suicide/index.html