A Suicide Poem by Cailea Lester

And I bent and contorted
the stars in my head
to match the color of your eyes
in the morning.

And I slanted my view
to make room for the memory
of your lips
which twisted words into poison
tracing vodka trails down my collarbones
on a rainy afternoon.

And I turned on the stream
of salt water drops
running down the delicate curve
of cheekbones sharp as knives,

sharp as the blade
making rivers in the ivory
spread tightly against my bones
and dripping crimson into lakes
right down to the tips
of the feet which used to mingle with yours
under the sheets that saw it all.

And I slipped away silently.