i often wonder what keeps me from committing suicide
last night it happened to be pasta (accidentally topped with tomato paste)
forty-ounce cherry-and-coca-cola frozen convenience store drinks
two brand-new packs of mentholated marlboros
there is nothing in the world like bad food and good company
there is nothing in the world like opening a fresh rectangular box of smokes
admiring each individual cigarette nestled in its place
there is nothing like the flick of the lighter
but i suppose there’s nothing in the world
like choking down that generous mouthful of prescription pills
or swing from that rope
or inhaling something a bit more concentrated than nicotine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem