They argued wildly. Blame-words
clawed at his face. Tongue
wielded thorn-yells

toward his back. As he walked away,
he raised his middle finger. The same
finger that use to

slip between pink lips
& drown inside walls that dripped
more wetness than

a humid sky. Heavy eyes stared & heaved
tears toward dirt-stained
concrete. Looked

toward the sky for comfort. Emotions
lamented, like when ‘Trane’s horn
cries “Alabama.” Saw

her reflection deep in a can
of trash. Empty like her starved
embraces. She tasted

waste in her thoughts. Regret too deep to surface,
nausea was the manifested pain. Spent night
debate doing on a park bench. Her

heart, numb from the hammer-rhythms
of break-up’s swing. Debate:
life in the aching

recollect or death in the quick
slice of suicide. Matter,
she didn’t think

she did. Eyes sore from knuckle-rubs. Off
the bench, ran like lightening strikes
back home. Timid

steps to a dirty kitchen. Sink housed
four plates, two glasses & yesterday’s
dinner knife. Still with

steak slivers on the edge, knife got met
to a bone-thin wrist, creating
a new image line.

Witnessed wine-colored blood
pour in a delicate way down
a boyfriend-bruised

forearm. Took a step back from standing. Now
sitting from the overwhelm. Eyes
begin to close

from the heavy reaction. Not long ago,
she on her mother’s lap
bouncing

happily. Now, only nineteen,
gone behind the closed
door of death.