by Kelli Simpson

Suicide season caught me

short of an overdose,

so I slept with you to see

what I could catch.


Opening day passed by

with you sticky on my thighs

and snuggled like a noose

around my neck.


Each day I spilled my sand,

but your suffocating hands

caught the grains as fast

as they could fall.


And by the season’s end,

I was sandcastled in

and scratching recipes for hemlock

on the walls.

This poem came in third place in the dVerse Poets Pub second anniversary contest.


One thought on “SUICIDE SEASON

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