$19.99 Suicide might be blue
But is it painless?
Could be loud
But does it refrain less?

Blankly, the wall laughs melancholy
Throughout the room without doors
The mirror, an avalanche
Heaven not a portal

An art form for placating
Daydreams impale the hallucinating
Pondering this, I lambast the slash
Where the voyage will go
Mourning Tea with Sylvia?
Perhaps an afternoon squash match?
!?!
Ripples rain dance on the river expedient
Should it mend a bird’s fractured wing?
The withered rose casts an enigmatic pallor
Frostbitten, it taints the spring
I am none of these things
I am none of these things