Words By Me.

Prelude to A Suicide

The light is out
No windows open to catch a breeze
The brown wick breathes out a thin white wisp of smoke
As if wanting to see its breath in the cold air
like when we were kids
The air thickens as I take out a knife to slice the loaf left on the countertop
I butter one side
then put it in the oven
The room is warmed, no windows open to catch a breeze
Like a footprint in the sand, the outline of my figure is left behind on the
suede couch
Take my hand to smooth it out, leaving a white trace behind
Back & forth, a hologram of cream and brown
The butter has turned golden, and I turn around
Knocking over my glass, sprinkling black coffee onto the marble floor
I don’t bother to pick it up right away
let someone mistake it for that same granite
imprisoned in those tiles
The oven is kept on, a candle is re-lit, I don’t bother to unplug the
coffee machine
I walk upstairs to rest, lay down
No windows open to catch a breeze
No light left on to catch me
I don’t worry about the coffee.